Heart of a Dragon
Tryggr's dream turned from fair to foul between one breath and the next. In his dream, he saw the magicked sword plunge, again, between her breast scales. He heard, again, her agonized roar. Saw her trample, again, the knight under her great clawed feet. Watched her fall, again, to lie inert under his urgent pleading to wake, to fly, to flee.
In his dream, he watched Runa, his mother, die. Again.
He opened his eyes, gulping panicked lungfuls of air, and returned to a world of aching loneliness and unending grief. His wings thrashed, then folded close to his sides. He groaned a sigh, wishing he had a friend. A companion who would explore the world with him. Who would talk to him and listen to his tales as Runa had done.
He was still young and his loneliness gnawed at him. But there was no cure. He was the last of his kind.
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