Flame isn't good with bravery. He can wish all he likes that someday he will prove himself equal to his friend, who, in a few years has already been established as protector of the Realms. It isn't likely though. He's fifteen years of age, yet he still feels the same as he had when he'd been eight, watching his friend crash through a plantation of hardwood trees and be absolutely fine with it. Sometimes Flame wonders if he ever stops and thinks about what he's doing. Certainly it was possibly that years of smashing though doors or armour or whatever happens to in his way at the time had permanently damaged his brain.
Whatever the reason, whenever there was a problem in the world, his friend would help.
He remembers the one time he had accompanied him. They had been outnumbered by Gnorcs, creatures Flame likes to describe as 'stupid lumps' and when his friend had been defeated, Flame had stepped in front of his friend in an attempt to protect him and frighten away the Gnorcs. It was all bravado, which, in its own right wasn't a bad thing, but in this case, it would have been better if it had actually worked. In the end, Flame had been saved by his friend instead of the reverse.
Now, Flame doesn't mind. In fact, he's proud of his friend, proud of the fact that whenever there was a time of crisis, the world need only cry out one name:
Spyro the dragon.
End