Excerpt; The Legend of Kozlov

Bruce stood in the silence of the sleeping house. He was the last one up, as usual. He stood in front of his father's old armchair gazing fondly at the ancient sword on the wall. He imagined the feel of it in his hand; the worn leather and the weight of the remarkably untarnished steel. How did it remain so? He wondered. He had never seen his father take it down. He recalled the day his seven year old son had asked his father about it.
"Do you ever wish you were a true Kozlov, Grampa?" Ryan asked curiously.
"What makes you think I'm not?"
Ryan gave the ancient old man a sheepish look and a shrug of his shoulders.
"I don't know. I've never seen you with the sword. It's always just hangin' on the wall."
"Maybe its on the wall 'cuz there's no dragons to slay with it." His grampa replied with a sly grin."
"Oh. I never thought of that."
"You never thought of that. The old man must be just worthless skin and bones takin' up space. Is that it?"
"No."
"I'm just joshin' ya, boy. I'm not a true Kozlov. The only true Kozlov was my father..."
"Is my dad a true Kozlov?"
The old man chuckled with disgust. "Him? Naw. He ain't no Kozlov. Like I was sayin' the only true Kozlov I know of was my father. Now there was a Kozlov. He slew a dragon with that sword."
The boy's eyes grew wide. " A real dragon?"
"Oh, yeah. Not just any dragon either, but the last dragon. It was bigger than a house with huge teeth and fire and smoke billowin' out of its yap."
"Wow!" Ryan exclaimed.