In the confusion, Glinda managed to surreptitiously pilfer a small packet of tobacoo and rolling papers, and regarded the pathetically-small dragon with contempt. With little else to do, she opted to follow the dragon, and silently wondered if all dragons were so terrible at basic socialization. With a little luck and some proper wording, she could probably have them singing to whatever tune she wanted.

Glinda, frustrated and blistered, arrived at Grunik's castle. As the pygmy dragon talked to her about common courtesy and how mean his leader is, Glinda absent-mindedly rolled up a cigarette. 

"Don't worry," Glinda said, smiling earnestly, "I know how to treat myself in the presence of, ah... [i]royalty[/i]." She struck a match off the dragon's scales, and lit her cigarette. As the dragon wandered off to parts unknown, Glinda stood in the hall and peacefully smoked.

Thirty minutes later, she finished up with the smoldering dog-end that used to be an expertly-rolled cigarette. She nonchalantly crushed the still-glowing dog-end with her fingers, and squirreled it away in her purse for later disposal. Glinda trussed up her dress, brushed her hair back, and sauntered into Grunik's throne room. [i]What would be the best way to address a dragon?[/i] Glinda thought, and shortly decided that staying calm and reverent would be best.