Clay inhaled the smoke, and when he breathed it out, he imagined himself a dragon. He opened his mouth wide, bared his teeth, prematurely yellow at only nineteen from the tobacco, and let the cloud roll out of his throat and gather around his face, stinging his eyes. He let a deep playful growl roll up out of his larynx to chase the smoke.

“Oh, Smaug the Mighty,” said a deep voice with a heavy Texas accent behind him, “Not gold alone brought us hither. I’d take a smoke, if you’ve got one to s...