ORIGIN

Dread, in fact, followed very little pattern. He hunted when he was hungry, and slept when he was not, and sometimes, at random, he'd launch out from his den to soar on the winds, though never far from his den.

Rarely, he would venture all the way to the tunnel, and bring back some scrap or other of armor that caught his fancy, and drop it back there. After his sojourn back in Fornax, recovering from his illness, he had returned here with a good number of tiny, shiny, mostly smooth stones (all carried in his jaws, of course) that he'd managed to swipe out of his tiny hatching-niche with his tail.

He was larger, now, more recognizable as a black dragon rather than a winged lizard. His roar was almost--almost--a legitimate roar, though the bulk of the sound was still a vicious screech.

The den itself was a dark, shadowed area atop a stone platform, quite high in Monoceros, the cave's curved wall forming an arched ceiling over it. The ledge itself, should one clamber or crawl all the way out to its tip, looked out over the Twister, and was excellent for sunning oneself beneath the cave-orbs. But when it was dark he wanted, or safety, Dread could safely retreat back into the darkness, and be well and truly out of sight.

That was where he was now--curled up, wings folded, over his hoard, his obsidian-edged tail safely tucked beneath his jaw. Faint tendrils of smoke rose from his flaring nostrils now and again.

The hoard itself, however, was perhaps far more likely to catch Howl's eye: a by-now huge assortment of shiny stones of various colors, some threaded through with glinting metallic flakes, others clearly old gemstones of some variety or another. Others were baubled, glowing a soft golden-white, and there were too many of these for even the dragon to carry in one pass. Someone had clearly made him a great many--or he had done it himself, or, perhaps, spent a great deal of time in collecting them all.

Likewise there was simply a large collection of pieces of armor--and a good number, too, of gnawed, black-charred bones scattered around him.

Though the presence of the dragon might come as a surprise, he was, at least, heavily asleep. One would just need to be very, very careful not to stumble on his stones, should they wish to venture further in... and, for their sake, not smell all that strongly.

Dread was too deeply asleep to really notice the creature's odor, not now. He was happily dreaming of sweeping through some hot cave, with Monoceros' twisting winds and red windswept stone, yet the grey and rocky beaches and steaming waters of Fornax. It was a pleasant dream, and as he chased some herd of prey over the rock, he let out a bellow.

This, outside his dream and right in front of Howl, manifested as a low, rumbling growl, almost a belch. Nostrils flared as the dreaming dragon ignited his prey, brief twin tendrils of smoke rising from them.

When Howl's tail brushed a pebble, he at first did not awaken--but he clearly began to stir from his dream... to stretch, to flex. Black sinuous muscles slipped from a tight coil, the light catching them in dancing tones of gold and flame, the rustling of his wing-leather soft yet stiff and the wings themselves lit, as he rose them slightly, as if from within with a coal-red glow.

After a good ten seconds or so, the dragon's eyelid began to slowly raise--and the nictitating to gradually pull back. The jaws opened, a vast yawn escaping, rows of pointed teeth clearly visible in the light.

The dragon was waking up.

Dread did not even remotely notice the creature scampering behind him--who would expect it? Its pawsteps were soft enough as his scaled body rasped over stone, and his broad wings hid anything directly behind him from his view. He stretched, and yawned, and readjusted himself on the stone, not realizing that someone, something, specific had awoken him.

For a solid five minutes, he simply lay there, drowsing in the shade.

He was wondering if he should hunt. Yet the last time he'd caught a bat here, he'd wound up remarkably ill, and the foul-smelling thing had likely been to blame. He didn't want to go through that again. He'd have to use fire, first, and smell whatever he killed quite carefully--head to toe--for any trace of illness before proceeding.

Quiet, he stood, talons scratching the rock as he began to drag himself forward on wings and hind legs, his long, spike-lined tail extending slowly out behind him. Its obsidian razor edge, along the top of the tail-tip, gently uncurled and hovered mere feet from Howl as Dread pulled himself away.

He hauled himself into the warm orb-light and perched at the edge of the ledge, lowering himself down again to watch below. He could see the Twister from here, and the upper edges of the ravines far below; he could simply wait for prey to pass by before taking one. And meanwhile--bask, content, in the "sun." Quiet, he lowered himself back down--a single grunt escaping him as he set himself to watching, and listening, for a potential meal--unaware of the stranger lurking in his den just behind him.

Dread lay silent, for a long time, tail slowly swishing over the stone--and brushing over his baubles, missing Howl by mere inches. He remained blissfully unaware, his gaze and his attention on the gorge far below as he watched for potential prey.

It was about this time that a strange odor caught his nostrils. He lifted his head, sniffing audibly, blinking a few times. This was a foreign scent--musky, furry, hot and rank. It wasn't his own, and he blinked, pupils dilating as he swiftly shuffled round toward the odor.

Wing-leather rustled; claws scratched over stone, his bladed tail sweeping out so it was jutting over the ledge. He blinked.

There was a stranger in his den. HOW?! How had he not noticed? Not heard? How long had it been there?

For a moment he simply stared, blankly, shocked by Howl's presence. He wasn't even sure what the creature was, only that it was brown and furry and a stranger to him.

He also had no idea that it had crammed one of his baubles directly into its mouth.