I turned the skull in my hands, bringing it to rest so that I could peer into its crimson-black eye, a tiny reflection of myself gazing back. Were it not for the pain, I would have doubted I was awake. To slay a dragon is the dream of boy and man alike. I had dreamt it many times, but always the heroic dreams of youth; save the damsel, slay the beast. Dreams are often a far cry from reality. Today I slew a child; a wicked and fearsome child, to be sure. Murderous, and more dangerous than any foe I have faced, but a child among its kin. It seemed distasteful to revel in its blood.
A searing wave of pain erupted from my arm, and I forced myself to look upon it: clothing fused and roasted with my own skin. My arm blurred and the ground beneath it came into focus: it was littered with bones...human bones. We were not the first to come for Shervem. Where I had been baptized in dragon-fire, these others had drowned in it. Where I had called the monster out; challenged it, they had turned and fled. Where I had grit my teeth as the flames broiled about me, singing hair and flesh: these lesser men perished.
Child or no, my companions and I had faced down a dragon, the most fearsome of all beasts. We had rid the lands of a marauding fiend; we had surly saved the lives of folk we will never meet. We could claim it for it is true, we are dragon slayers. Why else would the very Queen of the Elves call upon us, seeking our aid? These things cannot be chance; I am on the Path.