Roro missed his Daddy. He missed his Daddy's treats, his Daddy's hugs, hid Daddy's funny songs he'd whistle or hum, and he missed his Daddy's little hoomans that often came to visit him. Since his Daddy had gone to sleep, he'd had almost no visitors other than that weird Uncle Groundsleeper Hooman.

And he smelled funny.

So here Roro was, all alone, snorting occasionally as he tried to light his stall door on fire. Nuthin'. He was still just a baby dwagon. Sniffle.

Then Roro heard some THINGS flapping around, and he stretched up his dwagon neck to see what they were. Oh oh oh! Chikkins! That's what his Daddy called the thingies with dwagon-like wings like dat. Chikkins. Chikkins and a girl hooman. Roro thumped his tail and tried to send a tiny stream of fire at the chikkins. They probably tasted nommy all roasted up, wight?

Unfortunately, Roro was only able to produce a tiny little stream of smoke. Grrr. No roasted chikkin for dinner tonight.