Rigel is quick to roll his morph out of the way once he realizes what the dragon's about to do.
But he'd had to stay a moment too long in order to tear out the priceless dagger.
The dragon crushes the arm still clutching the dagger. Then he's thanking... whoever, really... probably his goddess, Andaress, or his father, Draaxar. Whoever gave him scales, tough bones, and wits enough to incorporate them into his morphs. For, while there's a great deal of pain as the skin is shredded when they scrape against the scales as s/he tugs out her arm, the scales resist the crushing weight.
He studies his/her arm a moment. A red mess, with three broken fingers. But the knife... the knife is intact. And as long as the knife remained intact, he could still fight.
“This is my favorite shape, ******!” He hisses. If only there was some way to stab the dragon in the throat, or the eye or something!
Actually, there might be a way. Or maybe he's like to just irritate the dragon. Either way, he's enjoying the fight no matter how badly it's messing with his forms. S/he's up and on his/her feet quickly enough, ready for whatever comes next, or if the dragon ignores him/her, ready for his next attack.