Now that “House of the Dragon” is back, I’ve been spending the last few days speaking High Valyrian to my dog, but she refuses to lykirī (be calm), rȳbās (listen), or even consider the possibility of the drakarys (breathe fire) household I know in my heart we could have, with a bit more practice. Honestly, I respect her autonomy in that regard, and I can pick up what she’s putting down . . . even a domesticated dog is cooler than a dragon.
All that pageantry and flapping around? Having to find and cook my own meals with fire that comes out of my face? Big no thanks when I know, eventually, you’ll just bring food right to me and let me sleep with my butt on your pillow at night. I can imagine her thinking this and, you know, that’s smart.
