When the storms move in and the clouds turn to swirls of ink in the sodden sky, that’s when you’ll most likely see it. It’s a very slender thing, draped in hair like silk and wings like icy webs, but something about it radiates… power.

Not a violent sort of power, just an energy. An intensity, confidence, knowing. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, but without fail, when the rains fall, the dragon rises from the lake and keeps watch over the waters. With sharp eyes, rarely blinking, it stares North-east for hour after hour, until the rains drip away and the white parchment clouds return.

Some think it is waiting, but no-one knows who for. Others think it merely enjoys the rain, or needs to keep its scales wet above the water – an easy assumption, but with the focus I see in its eyes, I find it hard to believe such a simple answer.