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Sid was excited to play at the higher level, with older dragonets. There was new protective armour to wear, all now made in heavier metal. A new helmet that fitted around his horns (and squashed his ears). A metal cage on the end of his tail, so he couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with the sharp barb.
The hockey stick wasn't armour, more like a weapon if the game were nearer to a battle. It was metal too, and sized to him, his for the season unless he grew faster than expected.
The smooth-faced piece of obsidian in Sid's stick—only the first jewel, selected for his name, a good ancestral dragon name—showed his darkened reflection, scales the orange-red of fall maple leaves.
There were enticing divots in the handle, waiting, where he would be entitled to put jewels once he won future games. His stick was almost a weapon, and could hold treasure. Hockey was the best game.
*
Years later, leader of his team, warmed by the familiar yet always wonderful success after another winning game, Sid turned his grin on Geno. As Sid gently bumped their armoured shoulders, Geno's answering flash of sharp teeth displayed as much fierce joy.
When Geno twined his tail around Sid's, Sid felt the rush of love that meant more than any treasure.