Dating is hard when the first book you read involving any kind of romance also had a gryphon.
I meet a cute girl and find myself daydreaming about how, years in the future, the two of us will fondly remember that time I gave my life to save her from a rampaging dragon army.
We’ll be on our back porch sipping our coffee or tea at our house out in the mountains somewhere, watching the early morning mist burn away. I’ll still have some trouble in the cold— my right shoulder will ache, a dull reminder of old war wounds. But we’ll be smiling against the chill, happy with the peaceful life we’ve had since that grateful wizard resurrected me. She’ll lean her head against my shoulder as I shout encouraging words to our two children, who are just putting the finishing touches on the snowman they’ve built with nothing but their hands and telekinesis.
I’m just having trouble finding a girl who can meet me halfway on this one.
