"Whoah hooah!" said the Wabbit as the food dragon whisked him into the sky and past the Vatican dome. The Wabbit's ears were firmly in the grip of the dragon’s talons and the air tore at his fur as they flew across the rooftops. "Where precisely is your destination?" asked the Dragon. "Testaccio Market," yelled the Wabbit. "Pistachio market, I call it," said the food dragon, "so that will be 7 euro." The Wabbit didn’t have the breath to argue and anyway he thought it was a fair enough price. Somehow, the dragon seemed to know what the Wabbit was thinking. "That’s a special price, because it’s where I live and I’m on my way home." "To your den?" suggested the Wabbit. "I don’t have a den," said the dragon. "I have a lair." "OK, lair," agreed the Wabbit for the sake of peace. "You can help me because I’m seeking a dragon that been disturbing the population." "I’m not disturbed, I’m a perfectly balanced dragon," cried the dragon and he showed the Wabbit what he meant by swooping rather close to a spire. "Not that sort of disturbation," said the Wabbit clenching his ears as best he could manage. "I meant the general population kind of running around shouting "Don't Panic!" disturbation.". "Oh them," said the dragon. "They’re quite silly." "When will we get there?" asked the Wabbit, who was becoming impatient and his fur was feeling aeriated. "After I get my shopping," said the dragon. "What shopping?" asked the Wabbit. "Food shopping," said the dragon. The Wabbit laughed. "Why did the corn stalk get mad at the farmer?" he ventured. "I give up," said the dragon. "He kept pulling its ears!" yelled the Wabbit.