The Wayward Worm

The Worm was feeling sorry for itself. She was laying in her lair looking around
at all the treasure and wondering what on Earth she was going to do with all of
it. That nasty slave had stolen the cup, but she knew that she didn't really
care. He probably needed it more than she did. Still, he'd woken her from her
slumber... she'd been having such a nice dream.

Yawning, the Worm accidentally spit out a coil of flame that snaked down to the
village and burned up some houses. "Oops," she thought. But, making the most of
the situation, she decided to play a little game with the villagers. She'd let
loose some more fire on the lecherous lackeys to keep them from waking her up
again. It was a slippery slope, she knew. First a slave takes something by
accident, but if she didn't do anything, they'd think she'd gone soft. Better
de-slip that slope as soon as possible.

She tried to yawn but could not. There was no point forcing a yawn. The Worm
laughed inside thinking about how humans thought she could breathe fire whenever
she wanted. Could they yawn at will? Amused at herself, she let out a boorish
belch. That did the trick---she could hear caterwauls coming up from the village
below. In her curiosity she peered over the edge. It looked like she'd started
quite the fire.

Content with her work, the Worm lay down to sleep. Dreams of being able to yawn
at will washed over her. "That simpleminded serf," she thought. He had
engendered quite the fiasco in his cupidity. So be it. She slipped into a doze,
not knowing that this would be her last good sleep before she died.