“Joy…” Dragon Father said, his voice full of foreboding, “Did you jump in front of the broom so it would hit you?”

“I didn’t jump,” she said simply.

“Did you move when it came closer so it would hit you in the face?”

She shrugged. “I donnoe.”

“Joy… did you get hit on the face on purpose so you could lose a tooth?”

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The trouble began when the Wicked Witch fell off her flying broom, struck in the shoulder by Dragon Father’s laser.

The Wicked Witch fell, and the flying broom swung out of control, heading in circles in all directions in the air.

Dragon Little, still five and a half years old, stood next to her father and watched the broom lose control, come closer, further away, closer, and then suddenly whiz by her, striking her in the face as it turned around.

“Joy!”

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