Why didn't I kill it? I'll admit, you're right: it was an easy kill. Scrawny, hardly any muscle, no weapons to speak of, and too cowardly to kill me. I could have snapped its neck like a twig. Almost did, too. But I didn't.
I should have. It tore off my tail fin, which hurt quite a bit I should mention. I could hardly fly. Even as I tried to escape that cove, I knew I'd never fly again; you know how it is. Our wings are everything. Hello, wolves? Panthers? Vikings? Other dragons? Dead Night Fury walking! Free meal, come and get it!
Then it came back. No, not that! The Viking boy! It wouldn't leave me the hell alone. It started feeding me and it fixed my tail. It kept me alive. Which was very strange. This was a new method I'd never heard of: