ORIGIN

Dread continued to peer off at Glory's workspace, for a moment. His spines half-raised, as if they were a dog's ears pricking in curiosity, then they lowered flat against his neck again as he turned his sinuous neck toward Grim.

"I'm going back to my den. To sleep," he added. Then he looked to Glory. He wanted to say something... friendly. Maybe someone else would've thought to assure Glory that whatever he was making must be beautiful; or maybe he could have offered a warm reassurance that he'd see him again soon. Instead, Dread thought, for a beat, before blurting--"Your head is still very shiny!" in an approving manner.

Then he turned, hauling himself away. "You can come back with me if you want." The dragon didn't clarify who he was talking to; instead he broke into a clumsy, slow run, heavy on the ground and with his tail bouncing off the rock once or twice. Then his wings snapped out and he was airborn, wings beathing against the air, the leather billowing up as it caught the heat below. Only slowly did he ascend, and angle off back toward his den where it lay flush with the cavern ceiling.

"GOODBYE!" he called out behind him, to Glory.

He didn't much know what to do with the not-talking-bird, but if it followed him back, he didn't mind sharing a den with it. The flying bird-animals seemed friendly, after all, and Glory had brought him shinies. They seemed to be too small to be a threat, too, but Dread wasn't really a conversationalist.

Maybe that wasn't a bad thing; Grim hardly seemed a big talker, either.

Grim admired the blacksmithing tools for a couple more minutes before turning to the larger bird questioningly when they said somebody asked them to make something for them as if to say "What is it?", before flitting down to land in front of them, watching the hulking dragon slip from the entrance to the cave.

"Thought is all I have so here's what it looks like"