He rather liked the attention and knew George would probably smite him for continuing to tell the tale. "He's going to kill me." Chuckling he shook his head. "This happened during the Crusades. We'd just captured a castle, and George had decided to drink all the wine in the cellars. No one really knows why."
He smiled at the memory, "so I lost George for a few hours. He comes into my tent, completely drunk. And I had never seen him drunk before. He ends up falling onto one of the couches and he's just babbeling nonsense. And I'm tipsy but I got to formulate battle plans and decide who the castle goes to, so he's distracting me. And outside one of the mules is just making noise so George sits up and asks what that noise is."
He gave a laugh and then calmed himself, "and I go, 'it's a dragon George, go kill it' and apparently he thought I was completely serious because before I know it he's glowing and got his sword in his hand. He runs outside, screaming something about Satan and I am just sitting there wondering what I had wrought and go outside to make sure he doesn't slaughter the animal. Turns out he fell into a ditch a bit before the poor creature and he's on his ass waving his sword about and just screaming obscenities. I just fall down laughing at that point."
Shaking his head he remembered how George had looked. "I go to bed, and George is still cursing up a storm. When I wake up he waddles inside and asks me why he was in the ditch. I tell him, and he gets such a guilty look on his face. He goes outside to hug this mule, and this creature is terrified of George. George spends a few good hours consoling the animal before declaring the mule is now his mount. He names it Winston and refuses to go anywhere without it. It died eventually and he insisted on burying it. Mourned the damn thing for a month too."