The ancient dragon stirred. A faint vice crying for help had roused him
from his dreams. Slowly memories oozed into his mind. Though he tried to stop
the cascade he couldn’t. Once he’d been a young green preparing to take his
place as guardian to young reds and blues of his line. The disaster had arrived
on white sailed ships.
The men known as wizards had come from afar. The screams of slaughtered
dragons filled the air. Three lines had been obliterated. One line had fled to
the mountains. His kin. Many of them
had died in the attempt to cross the towering peaks. He had been left behind
because he’d been too young to make the journey. The cave system had been his
home. When the last voice of his kin had faded an ancient yellow had sent him
into the deep hibernating sleep.
How many cycles of the sun had passed since his sleep had begun? Why had
he roused? He searched for the voices of other dragons and met silence. Anger
fueled by memories filled his thoughts. He sensed the presence of wizards. Not
the ones who had first come but others. A desire to see his kin avenged roared
through him. He needed someone to hear and speak for him. Would the voice he’d
heard be the one?
He dragged his aching body to his feet. He lumbered to the entrance into
his sleeping place. Slowly he moved along the wide corridor past the cold room
and the one where his people’s belongings had been stored. Humid heat drew him
to the cavern where heated water bubbled in a pool. The steaming water eased
his aching body. He continued to search for the voice that had awakened him.
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