Lira crouched beside him now, a few feet away. She didn't try to touch the dragon again. Just watched.
"I think it's alone," she said quietly.
"I noticed," Lindarion replied.
"No, I mean… completely."
He didn't answer right away.
He looked at the scales. Dark, polished black edged in deep blue. Not faded. Not bruised. Just young. The kind of coloring that meant it hadn't developed fire sacs yet. Maybe not even proper flight.
No scars. No rider bindings. No jewelry or crest.
Just… wild. And abandoned.
A chill crawled under his coat, even though the flame he'd lit earlier was still hovering a few feet away, casting soft heat.
He lowered his voice. "Do dragons usually do this?"
"Not unless they're raised near people. Or trained to respond to mana signatures."
"I haven't been doing anything."
Lira tilted her head again, studying him in that unnerving way she always did. Like she was adding him up and didn't care if the answer made sense or not.
