He was King of all he surveyed.
The morning sun felt good on his smooth skin. It was a
good sun, and it was his.
The bark of the tree was rough, but solid. It was his
tree, and it was good.
He feared nothing, not even the bird that had bitten
off his tail. He’d cursed it, and it would die. All things died…if he wanted
them to.
He glared at the human who took his photo, wondering “what
kind of lizard” he was. Lizard? He was the King.
He might curse her, too. If he felt like it.
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