There was a Dragon
One evening on my mother's return from the farm she heard something, a loud and pained roar unlike anything she'd ever heard before. She was drawn to it, pushing past the brush until she found the poor creature. It was a large dragon with sad, green eyes. She swore she could see him cry. She stepped closer cautiously, displaying her harmlessness so that the dragon could calm, before she inspected the wound penetrating his purple armor. It was then she saw another and yet another. He was riddled with cuts. He had been ambushed. She met the dragon's eye again, placing a hand to his nose, reassuring she would help him.
She had promised to return soon, and the next morning she did. She brought with her baskets of healing cream, and it took her the entire day to cover the cuts with them; however, it was no chore. There was something about this magnificent being that made her feel not so alone, and when she spoke it was almost as if he understood. She would complain about the humans, and he would snort fire. She would talk about her friends, and he would seem to hum in interest. She would show her sad loneliness, and he would move his head closer to her.
Over the next several weeks she would stay the night with him, detouring hunters and wild children, just to keep him safe. It was long, wakeful hours, but at times when she was too weak to produce her own magical fire, the dragon produced his. It awed her how much control he had, how small he could blow flames from his large mouth, and it always made her smile.
It wasn't all fun and games, though. A dragon his size needs a lot of meat, so when she wasn't putting the healing cream on him she was out hunting for him. She lured a dozen animals to him every day, but they never ran away. She saw how his eyes glowed at the animals, how they grew curious, and how they drew nearer to him. It was because of the dragon's hypnotism that he was able to survive his injury, because my mother knew there would have been little more she could do otherwise.