Norman pauses halfway through taking up a third pastry, the little cake poised on the tip of his tongue.

Then he pulls it deep into his maw, swallowing without chewing.

"Dragons are hardly common, but we are most certainly present."

He sniffs, sending smoke-clouds out of his nostrils.

"Believing us not to be real shows a distinct lack of imagination. Particularly in your story-tellers."

A second exhalation of smoke through Norman's nostrils shows exactly what he thinks about that sort of ridiculousness.