The village wasn't exactly welcoming.
Not hostile either. Just that awkward brand of small-town curious where everyone stared like they were trying to figure out whether to sell you soup or report you to a local god.
Lindarion didn't blame them.
A baby dragon had just pranced into their square like it owned the place.
Ashwing trotted a few steps ahead, tail curled up like a banner, wings half open for drama, making proud little snort sounds with every bounce. Which wouldn't have been a problem, except the last snort lit a cart wheel on fire.
Just a little.
Meren made a high-pitched noise. Ren slapped the flame out with her scarf like this was a perfectly reasonable start to the morning.
"Don't worry," she said to the cart owner, whose mouth was stuck somewhere between the words help and why me. "He's teething. We think."
Ashwing puffed out his chest and sneezed again. Smoke, not fire. Progress.
Lindarion dragged a hand down his face.
"I should've just left him in the cave."
