I firmly pressed on the edge of my papers, hastily scooting them out from underneath him. I straightened them, knocking the edges against the desk three times before I sat them on the farthest corner away from him, and picked up a new quill. Drakkon’s lips parted with a drawn-out sigh. His eyes roamed over the contents of my desk, fingers fumbling through the air in search to find an object to move a quarter of an inch. I clenched my teeth, the quill scraping harshly against the page. “Drakkon. I have work to do.”
Drakkon really added some comic relief in the story. I love him!
