Quentin Trimble (

Quentin whistled softly. Nine dragons was nothing to sneeze at. In fact, it was something most people would turn tail and run at, even if those dragons were in the infant stages of things. A baby dragon was still a dragon.

"Do they ever get attached?" he asked, giving a smile of thanks to the bartender as his second drink was delivered (and sliding a tip across the bar as well. It always paid to tip bartenders well when you wanted quick service). "And not want to leave?" Like a child not wanting to let go of the apron strings. Except larger, scalier and with much sharper teeth.

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