Alright. She shook her head lightly, causing the teacup dragon to shuffle down her back and take up a perch between her shoulders, then stretched and trotted off after him.
The minute dragon cheeped happily and scampered up and down her back, sniffing at the air curiously.
He needs a name, Asta noted, glancing back over her shoulder at the little creature. He seemed young--she didn't know a lot about his species, but she'd overheard some of the menagerie workers mentioning that he was a fledgling, that he'd been "rescued" from mortally wounded parents; though she had a feeling that cause of those wounds had been the collectors themselves.