“You should eat,” Flynn murmured in between bites.

  Oscar poked one of the pumpkins with his claws, head low.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Flynn gulped down a large piece of meat. “Doesn’t matter. Still gotta eat.”

  They were sitting at a large wooden table on the open deck of the Mythical Ward. The air was crisp and a bit chilly, and snow-covered peaks dotted their view in all directions. The massive structure below them hummed quietly — a byproduct of the magical energy used to keep it elevated.

  Scattered across the deck were dozens of tables of varying height to accommodate mythical creatures of all shapes and sizes. It was still early, but many patients were already having lunch in the pale sunlight.

  Flynn was sitting on a high chair, his boots dangling a couple of feet above the ground. He felt like a child, but swallowed his pride — along with some pastry — to accommodate Oscar. The azure-blue dragon was presently in a bit of an emotional slump, after his first group session the day prior had embarrassed him more than Flynn ever could.

  “It wasn’t even that bad,” Flynn offered, putting down his fork.

  “I froze.”

  Flynn nodded. “Well, yes, but at least you didn’t lose control.”

  He made a gesture of spitting fire to underline his words.

  The dragon shifted his weight, and his scales glittered under the bright sun.

  “I am such a coward,” he growled, his amber eyes gazing at the soft spot on his belly.

  “You are not a coward. You were just a bit overwhelmed.”

  “I don’t want to be like that.”

  “That’s why you’re here, right?” Flynn tried a smile. “Just stick with it, and I’m sure it will get better.”

  “How am I going to get better if I can’t even talk about my problems?”

  “Isn’t that what we are doing right now?”

  The dragon puffed. “That’s different. With you, it’s different.”

  Flynn could feel a fuzzy feeling engulf his soul.

  “I feel honored, but I’m probably the least qualified person here to talk to about these things.”

  The dragon considered his words for a moment.

  “You are probably right.”

  Flynn frowned. “There was no need to confirm that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe during the next group session you’ll be more comfortable,” Flynn mumbled while proceeding with his lunch.

  The dragon sighed pitifully. “I doubt that.”

  “Just try to be positive about it, hm?” Flynn managed to say when he couldn’t think of anything better. “Like that mermaid lady.”

  “I’m sorry,” Oscar repeated.

  “That’s not—” Flynn bit his lip. “Don’t be sorry for things you can’t change. You are who you are, and that’s great. And if you can get to a point where you are more comfortable with yourself, even better. Isn’t that the whole point of therapy, according to Elli?”

  “So you agree with her?”

  Flynn hesitated. Admitting that he was impressed with the therapist felt like a surrender.

  “I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt,” he conceded.

  Oscar still hadn’t touched his food when Mira showed up out of nowhere.

  “If that isn’t my new favorite anxious dragon,” the receptionist exclaimed with her shrill voice.

  She was wearing another hideous cardigan with a matching pair of green glasses. The breeze was ruffling her curly hair, hiding her cheerful face behind a curtain of black. She looked even shorter from Flynn’s elevated spot on the high chair, and he realized that was how Oscar perceived most people he interacted with.

  The dragon’s face lit up slightly when he saw the receptionist.

  “Hello, Mira,” he said with a friendly puff.

  Flynn had his mouth full and only managed to greet the woman with a greasy grunt. She glanced at him in mild disgust.

  “Good to see you, too, Flynn.”

  She quickly turned her attention back to Oscar.

  “Aaaaand?” she asked conspiratorially, gesturing with the shrimp cocktail in her hand, “how are you enjoying life in the Mythical Ward?”

  The dragon smiled politely.

  “It is fascinating,” he said, and it didn’t even sound like a lie. “Everyone is very friendly and welcoming.”

  Mira’s face beamed.

  “Good!” she said a little too loud. “I am so happy to hear that!”

  “It is still a lot to take in, but I’m trying my best,” the dragon added sheepishly.

  “Oh, darling,” Mira said and waved her unoccupied hand, “I’m sure you are doing just fine. It’s a big change for you — anyone could see that.”

  “They can?” Oscar asked anxiously, his eyes scurrying across the neighboring tables.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Mira chuckled. “A figure of speech.”

  “Oh.”

  The receptionist smiled, not allowing the momentary silence to linger.

  “Have you already had time to familiarize yourself with all the Mythical Ward has to offer?”

  Oscar opened his mouth, but wasn’t fast enough to respond.

  “Of course you haven’t — silly me!”

  The receptionist laughed her shrill laugh and picked a shrimp from her glass. She swiftly tossed it into her mouth and smacked her lipstick-colored lips.

  “What does the Mythical Ward have to offer?” Flynn asked, if only to remind Mira that he was still there.

  “Where to start?” Mira asked facetiously.

  “I don’t suppose you have any bars around here?”

  The short woman narrowed her eyes.

  “We don’t. As a matter of fact, that would be rather detrimental to some of our patients.”

  Flynn frowned. “You also treat alcoholics?”

  “You bet we do.”

  “There are mythical creatures who are alcoholics?” Oscar asked in surprise.

  Mira cracked a smile — Oscar seemed to have that effect on her.

  “I’m afraid so, dear.”

  “Is that griffin one of them?” Flynn asked instinctively.

  Mira scowled. “We don’t discuss details of medical conditions with other patients. And especially not with non-patients.”

  “I bet he is,” Flynn muttered, glancing knowingly at Oscar.

  The receptionist huffed. “He has been sober for a long time now.”

  “I know sober, and he ain’t it,” Flynn snorted.

  “That is incredibly rude of you to say. And hurtful.”

  “You're his mother or something?”

  “Flynn, please!” Oscar growled.

  But the receptionist raised her hand in a calming manner.

  “It’s okay. Not all of us are graced with proper manners.”

  Flynn murmured a quiet curse before devouring another piece of pastry.

  “You were going to tell us about what the Mythical Ward has to offer,” Oscar said hopefully after a moment of unpleasant silence had passed.

  Mira’s expression softened.

  “You are so right, dear Oscar,” she replied with a honeyed voice. “Well, for one, there is this beautiful deck, which you’ve already discovered for yourself.”

  She gestured at the commanding view, the rings on her fingers catching the sunlight.

  “But there are also a great many courses you can choose from outside your therapy program.”

  The dragon looked surprised. “Like what?”

  Mira soaked up his interest like a sponge. “I’m glad you’re asking! There are plenty of options to choose from. For starters, we have a lot of fitness courses that revolve around physical health. Of course, your therapy might also incorporate similar activities, but some of our patients just can’t get enough of them. There are courses for team sports like hornball or air hockey — although that is only really fun if you can fly, I suppose. But we also have many courses for sky and field disciplines, if you prefer individual sports.”

  Oscar nodded politely, even though Flynn knew the large dragon was not particularly interested in any kind of workout. He was very much a homebody.

  “Our yoga sessions are also rather popular, especially for patients with more than four limbs. We usually have a session every morning at sunrise, led by yours truly.”

  She bent her legs as if to prove her qualification.

  Flynn immediately envisioned the stylistically challenged receptionist in a nylon leotard workout suit, her curly hair restrained by a sweat band, shouting overly excited instructions into the quiet of the morning.

  “If you are more into recreational activities,” Mira continued, “we might entice you with our pottery or embroidery classes.”

  “That sounds fun,” the dragon rumbled with genuine interest.

  “You should totally give it a try then,” the receptionist and yoga teacher fluted. “We offer them twice a week. They could be a bit challenging without hands, but that’s never stopped any of our other patients before. Even the basilisk got a hang of it eventually.”

  “Am I right to assume that all of these activities cost extra?” Flynn asked skeptically.

  Mira shot him a cynical smile. “Not if you’re insured. And certainly not for my darling dragon over here.”

  Oscar’s tail wiggled slightly.

  Flynn rolled his eyes at the comment. The dragon sure fell easily for flattery.

  “How many patients do you have, anyway?” Flynn asked when Mira didn’t seem ready to leave just yet.

  The receptionist put a finger to her chin.

  “You know what? That’s actually hard to say.”

  “Why is that?”

  “A lot of them are just incredibly small and hard to keep track of.”

  Flynn frowned. “You got some mythical ants here?”

  “Pixies, mostly,” Mira said flatly. “And a few gnomes. Since these halls were built to accommodate the largest of mythical creatures, they can be a bit impractical when tending to the smallest among them.”

  The image of Oscar accidentally squishing a gnome without even noticing flashed before Flynn’s eyes. He could tell the dragon was having similar thoughts.

  When no one said anything for a long moment, the receptionist seemed to take the hint. Or, in lack of that, felt her stomach rumble.

  “Oh well, I better get going and leave you two to your lunch.”

  A wave of relief washed over Flynn when it became clear that she wasn’t going to sit with them.

  “I’ll catch you later,” the receptionist said cheerfully, adjusting her glasses with a tap of her cocktail-sauced covered finger.

  “Farewell,” Oscar said awkwardly.

  Flynn completed their interaction with another grunt.

  They watched as the bubbly receptionist scurried through the rows of tables until she reached a human-sized seating arrangement where a couple of staff members were having lunch.

  “I really like her,” Oscar said pensively.

  “I can tell,” Flynn muttered.

  “She just seems like a genuinely nice person.”

  Flynn scoffed quietly. “Right.”

  They fell silent for a moment as Flynn mechanically shoved spoonfuls of now-cold soup into his mouth. It was a particularly gnarly blend of cauliflower and carrot, and it didn’t even serve its purpose of keeping him warm in the chill breeze.

  He only looked up when concentric tidal waves started splashing against the rim of the bowl, brought forth by a tremor in the ground. When he looked up, his eyes got caught on a red dragon at the entrance to the deck, half the height of Oscar but probably twice the width. From his extensive knowledge of dragon anatomy, he could tell he was looking at a female. Her crimson scales were less pointy than Oscar’s, her horns more like bumps, and her fuchsia cheeks full and bright.

  “My, my,” Flynn muttered, “that’s a chunker of a dragon.”

  Instead of reacting to his words, Oscar just hummed.

  “Are you okay?” Flynn asked skeptically, looking up at his companion.

  To his surprise, the dragon’s eyes were intently fixed on the female, his mouth opened slightly in a slow smile.

  “Uhm …” Flynn began, failing to comprehend.

  The silverware on the table trembled anxiously as the female dragon made her way through the row of tables. The impact of her feet sent shockwaves through Flynn’s spine.

  “Wow,” Flynn commented, securing his remaining lunch with both hands. “That dragon is quite something.”

  “I know, right?” Oscar murmured absently.

  Flynn frowned, examining the dragon with narrowed eyes.

  “You are not serious, are you?” he asked slowly.

  “What?”

  “I mean …” Flynn tried to explain, gesturing with his hands.

  Oscar finally took his eyes off the other dragon and glanced down.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you think she is a bit …?”

  The dragon raised a horn.

  “Is what?”

  Flynn sighed. “Forget it.”

  Oscar puffed and returned his focus to the stack of pumpkins in front of him.

  Apparently, he had finally found his appetite.