|Not much of a dragon nipping his heels|
Honora was as greatly desired for her nubility as for her nobility. Yet she declined all offers of marriage, holding out hope that a deal could be struck for the hand of Efflamm, a handsome young prince. She got her way, sort of. He slipped out of the wedding bower before consummation on some flimsy excuse. While she waited patiently, he bolted for the shore and scrambled to find a boat to take him across the channel. Not finding one, he jumped into an old trunk, part of the flotsam and jetsam that had washed up on the beach. It must have been a friendly tide and a fair wind, because morning found him on a beach in Brittany.
He got there just in time to find some dragon kicking King Arthur's ass. Arthur, you know, was king of Brittany as well as Britain, and as king he was tasked with slaying all the beasties that menaced his subjects. The exhausted king asked Efflamm for a drink of water. The saint struck a rock with his stick, bringing forth a cool, clear fountain. Refreshed by the healing water, Arthur rose to fight the dragon further; it fled into the sea and drowned. Efflamm was invited to take a seat at the Round Table, but of course he declined, knowing that Camelot is a silly place.
|That's more like the monster Efflamm helped defeat|
They lived long, performed many miracles, and died on the same day, he on his bed in his hut, she on her bed in the hut next door.