His market was still open, if you could call a pile of haphazard belongings a 'market.' He was mantling over it, again, so one could call that 'open.'

But the dragon lacked the cheer he'd had before. Instead he seemed almost to be moping, as much as a twenty-five-foot-plus-long-dragon could mope. It was complete with heavy sighs and huffs, now and then, as he shifted from foot to foot, staring morosely at the tunnel.

It wasn't clear why he was like this--his collection seemed large enough, and shiny--but the dragon seemed almost sad.

Dread looked up, blinking at Wilder. He huffed softly, and he also puffed, and he halfheartedly looked for something to blow down but nothing seemed immediately available and he gave up.

"I am selling them," he answered, in a saddened sort of way. "I want gold." But there was a moroseness to the way he said it, rather than his normal... well, one couldn't call it bright, or cheer, but maybe "intensity" was a good word.

He turned and scraped talons briefly through part of the pile, showing Wilder gemstones and pieces of armor.

"I have gemstones. And armor. And--hair." He stared, for a moment, at the deer hides that lay there, and then looked to Wilder.

And, just in case it wasn't clear that he was sad, he sighed again.

Dread watched the black cat approach, and even had the presence of mind to back up, a pace, in case his looming size intimidated. She seemed unafraid, though, even enthusiastic, as she pulled a greenish stone from the pile.

He started to say that nothing was wrong--not in a dismissive way, but Dread wasn't exactly in touch with his own emotions. He had to stop, and consider, and actually think about why he was sad, for a moment.

"WE MADE CHILDREN BUT I DID NOT GET TO KEEP THEM. I WANT ONE," and his voice was a mourning moan. He had a nest. And it was nice and warm, here! He could teach a child how to fly. His exchange of stones and life with Asimona had triggered some fathering instinct he hadn't known he'd had, and now he wanted family.

The fact that the children would undoubtedly factor into his life through visits and so on didn't factor in; in his mind, their 'eggs' were with their mother, and he was here, and it was cold there, and anyway his stuff was here, and...

Dread huffed again, half-miserably. The idea of asking for a bit of life-magic or gemstone in return for an object from his hoard hadn't occurred to him yet, though if Wilder didn't think of it first, he'd probably come up with it eventually.

But for now, remembering that he was meant to be a vendor, he tried to do what any merchant anywhere would do; to sell the item his customer was interested in. "That's green," he informed her miserably, as if somehow this was an insightful piece of science which would make it more valuable. "It's a good rock."

Dread considered. He looked back at his tail, peering for a moment at it, considering; and--and a piece, with the flicker of magicka, cleaved off. OH NO.

Half-panicked, the dragon let out what could only be described as a short squawk.

"A PIECE CAME OFF," he cried, alarmed, and scrabbled backwards. He'd heard it clink to the stone, but it took him a moment of nudging around on the rock to find it.

It was a tiny sliver of razor-sharp obsidian, and Dread made a sound like a whimper--rather wretchedly pathetic coming from such a large, imposing beast. "I WAS THINKING ABOUT DOING IT AND IT FELL OFF!" Worriedly, he looked to Wilder.

He then nudged the stone toward her. "CAN YOU FIX IT?! I WILL GIVE YOU THE GREEN," he offered, anxiety in his tone.

It was not exactly the graceful beauty of some reproduction, but it was...

It was something. Definitely... something.

Dread stared, for a long moment.

He blinked.

He looked at the forming stone.

He squawked again, and hastened to pick it very carefully up in his jaws. He paused, first, only briefly to speak.

"I NEED TO PUT IT IN MY NEST!" he cried. "THANK YOU TAKE WHAT YOU WANT I WILL COME BACK IF YOU STAY," he added, all in a frantic rush.

Like every worried father ever--though maybe a little more "dragon with a crystal" than most--he hastily swept up his "child" and launched into Monoceros' air. Wings beat powerfully, lifting him off to his right and toward the den that lay in the high ledges of the southern wall. In mere moments he was out of sight.

Once in his den he landed heavily, quickly scraping out a space among his hoarded treasure. He gave a brief glance to the Flint chrysalis locked to the stone, there, and carefully placed the obsidian sliver a little ways away. Then he moved what treasure remained up here around it--as if to hide it--but not so close as to obscure it, resulting in a nest-like ring of singing crystals and chunks of gold around the little gemstone.