I always thought I was big, that I was one of the largest in this world. I can carry five grown humans without complaint. I can topple trees, move landslides, fight churning seas, but I’ve never felt as small as I do when the elder is near.

He travels the world, never staying still. He’s so old that the tongue of modern dragons is gibberish to him. Although he is a gentle and watchful thing, I’m still scared of his size and ease, of the power that radiates from him in waves, carrying him through the sky.

Are there others, do we think, hiding above the clouds or deep in mountains? Or is he alone, the last of his old world, simply riding the ebb and flow of a world alien to him? I try to talk with him, but I am greeted with only mild eyes and silence.