Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“Big thing. Huge big thing. Flapping. Great big flapping leaping thing. Teeth. Huffing. Blowing. Great big huge blowing flapping thing.” Sweat broke out on Carrot's forehead as he tried obediently to understand. “Sucking fingers. Sucking fingers thing. Burnt. Hot. Great big hot blowing flapping thing ...”

The Librarian rolled his eyes. Homo sapiens? You could keep it.

...

The great dragon danced and spun and trod the air over the city. Its colour was moonlight, gleaming off its scales. Sometimes it would twist and glide with deceptive speed over the rooftops for the sheer joy of existing.

And it was all wrong, Vimes thought. Part of him was marvelling at the sheer beauty of the sight, but an insistent, weaselly little group of brain cells from the wrong side of the synapses was scrawling its graffiti on the walls of wonderment.

It's a bloody great lizard, they jeered. Must weigh tons. Nothing that big can fly, not even on beautiful wings. And what is a flying lizard doing with great big scales on its back?

Five hundred feet above him a lance of blue-white flame roared into the sky.

It can't do something like that! It'd burn its own lips off!

Beside him Lady Ramkin stood with her mouth open. Behind her, the little caged dragons yammered and howled.

The great beast turned in the air and swooped over the rooftops. The flame darted out again. Below it, yellow flames sprang up. It was done so quietly and stylishly that it took Vimes several seconds to realise that several buildings had in fact been set on fire.

“Golly!” said Lady Ramkin. “Look! It's using the thermals! That's what the fire is for!” She turned to Vimes, her eyes hopelessly aglow. "Do you realise we're very probably seeing something that no-one has seen for centuries?''

“Yes, it's a bloody flying alligator setting fire to my city!” shouted Vimes.

She wasn't listening to him. “There must be a breeding colony somewhere,” she said. “After all this time! Where do you think it lives?”

Vimes didn't know. But he swore to himself that he would find out, and ask it some very serious questions.

“One egg,” breathed the breeder. “Just let me get my hands on one egg ...”

Vimes stared at her in genuine astonishment. It dawned on him that he was very probably a flawed character.

Below them, another building exploded into flame.

“How far exactly,” he said, speaking very slowly and carefully, as to a child, “did these things fly?”

“They're very territorial animals,” murmured her ladyship. “According to legend, they-”

Vimes realised he was in for another dose of dragon lore. “Just give me the facts, m'lady,” he said impatiently.

“Not very far, really,” she said, slightly taken aback.

“Thank you very much, ma'am, you've been very helpful,” muttered Vimes, and broke into a run.

Somewhere in the city. There was nothing outside for miles except low fields and swamp. It had to be living somewhere in the city.

His sandals flapped on the cobbles as he hurtled down the streets. Somewhere in the city! Which was totally ridiculous, of course. Totally ridiculous and impossible.

He didn't deserve this. Of all the cities in all the world it could have flown into, he thought, it's flown into mine . . .

...

By the time he reached the river the dragon had vanished. But a pall of smoke was hanging over the streets and several human bucket chains had been formed to pass lumps of the river to the stricken buildings.[13] The job was considerably hampered by the droves of people streaming out of the streets, carrying their possessions. Most of the city was wood and thatch, and they weren't taking any chances.

In fact the danger was surprisingly small. Mysteriously small, when you came to think about it.

Vimes had surreptitiously taken to carrying a notebook these days, and he had noted the damage as if the mere act of writing it down somehow made the world a more understandable place.

Itym: Ae Coache House (belonging to an inoffensive businessman, who'd seen his new carriage go up in flames).