Every autumn, flocks of dragons pass over the moors as they travel to warmer climates. Often Rover can be seen watching them pass, staring silently with his head tilted to the sky. Is he envious? Does he wonder where they go?

He makes no attempt to leave the moor. He could, easily. He could walk to wherever he chooses, and he can sprint faster than a racehorse for hours at a time. He can swim, he can navigate tunnels, he can climb cliff faces. If Rover wished to leave these lands, he could easily do so – but something keeps him here, silent and alone, walking the hills day after day, keeping to himself.

Sometimes I feel pity for him, but in those rare moments when our eyes meet and I can see the sharp, bright energy behind them, I realise how different we are, and that I will never understand him at all.