The cave looked reasonably inviting, but the dragon hesitated on the threshold. The mouth of the cavern was fairly large, and faced the rising sun, so that the dragon might easily be discovered before he could regain his strength. Yet he was almost totally exhausted, and there was a lightning-stricken tree by the entrance, so that he at least had potential fuel; so finally he dragged himself, creaking and wheezing, inside the cave, listening to hear whether anything scrambled or pattered away in terror. The cave was empty, so he shuffled over to the wall which gave most shadow and collapsed. He sighed, a dreadful shuddering sigh, born of despair, which shook his whole rusty body. The story of an old dragon and an old man. After all, why should children have all the adventures? Why should grandfathers not have them too?