The distant shape that shot out over the water was immense: an impossibly broad wingspan, the light shining through the membranes to illuminate them a deep red-brown. The dragon soared at great speed, circling from one island to another, seabirds wheeling around him; he didn't seem to mind their presence.

He was making his daily rounds, the protection duty he'd agreed to.

Weird gemstone hole: safe, check.

Haven's nest: safe, at least probably. He hadn't seen her there but it didn't look wrecked, at least.

Satisfied, Dread turned and circled, turning his attention to the sea below and the thin, pale strip of shore that parted it from the thick forests beyond. The white wolf along the shoreline stood out, even against the pale sand; she was snow-colored, and in motion, and nothing like anything else that lived here.

Curiosity piqued, Dread swept lower. She wasn't dragon-shaped, so she wasn't a threat to his territory, in his mind. Wings wavering and beating with bass "whumphs" between each glide, he flew down close, curving in behind her in a sweep of air that might've blown her fur a little; then he came in to land some forty feet behind her, facing her, in a loud crunch of sand.

"WHAT ARE YOU?" he called out, curious. He was preeeetty sure she was a wolf, and with childlike hopefulness that he was right, he blurted out what he hoped was the answer: "ARE YOU A WOLF?"

His voice was loud--Dread had no inside voice--but it wasn't demanding, in this case; and as he began a swift wing-walk closer, he didn't seem likely to attack, despite his size.

Dread's eyes widened.

Give it life-? It was a living stone? This was lucky--he'd been missing having kids.

"I HAVE RAISED CHILDREN! I WOULD LIKE SOME MORE," he told Comet, and then--as if some former bad experience prompted him to feel the need to reassure her--"THEY ARE HEALTHY AND GOOD AND I LOVE THEM." He didn't want to be accused, again, by another stranger, for not knowing his own children!

"DO YOU WANT TO WATCH?" he asked, after a moment. "I HAVE TO FLY UP TO MY DEN 'CAUSE ROCKS GROW WHERE YOU PLANT THEM." (A weird sentence, were it out of context.) "I CAN FLY YOU THERE. YOU CAN TAKE SOMETHING IF YOU WANT. I HAVE SHINIES. JUST NOT THE SINGING ONE," he added--"I LIKE THE SINGING ONE."

Gently--carefully--Dread reached forward with one foot. He didn't suspect any trick; in fact, he blurted a half-forgotten "THANK YOU!" as his talons closed around this one. With such a fiery color, there could only be good things in store, right?

"NO, I MIGHT DROP YOU. -IF YOU WERE ON MY BACK," he clarified. Then he realized he only had two feet, and he'd need them to carry Comet. "STAY HERE. I HAVE TO FLY TO PICK YOU UP."

It took him a moment of maneuvering, but Dread transferred the stone delicately into his jaws, and then turned away. He bounded--on hind legs and wing-limbs--to pick up momentum, then leapt upward and with great beats of black, leathery wings, he took flight.

Raspite still held firmly but gently in his mouth, he turned--fixing ember eyes on Comet--and swept down. Just as he'd done with cave deer a dozen times, he reached to snag her in his talons--not very gracefully, but with one foot grabbing for her scruff, the other angled to scoop her chest and belly from underneath.

And if she allowed it, he'd then fly back toward his den with sweeping wingbeats--higher and higher into Leo's ocean air, toward the tall, narrow rock outcrop of an island that he called home.

The island atop which he lightly touched down, at last, was one some hundred feet or more high at its crown. There was a hole in its side, quite high up--his main den, in fact; its sides otherwise were jagged and sheer, the surf crashing along their base. It would be impossible to reach without wings, but that was hardly an issue for the dragon.

The top of the island was a sort of shallow, bowl-shaped hollow, chosen for the ridges around it--it was only perhaps forty or fifty feet across--that left it fairly sheltered. A couple bent, wind-swept trees offered a little shade, and grasses and a few other sparse plants added a little greenery. But the divot itself--into which Dread first gently deposited Comet, and then swept back around to land in--was full of treasures.

These "treasures" ranged from random crystals and gemstones to battered, worn pieces of armor, to metal scraps and hides and bones. His greater treasures--including singing crystals and the enchanted golden collar--were in the den far below.

Dread leaned down, clearing a spot in amongst the stones and here he carefully set the raspite.

"I WILL TRY TO BRING IT TO LIFE," he informed Comet--seemingly unconcerned about having a stranger in his den. His focus--his excitement, in fact--was on the gemstone, and after a moment he leaned down.

He pressed his snout to the rock, and squeezed his eyes shut very carefully (as if this were an important part of how this all worked) and for a moment, he was still. From him, then, magic flowed: and the stone swelled slightly with life.

It would fuse to the den site soon enough, he knew. He looked to Comet, ember eyes flaring with excitement. "IT IS ALIVE, NOW!" he exclaimed. (He'd have another hatchling! How exciting!) Dread then glanced around at all his treasures, as if now they were nothing more to him than trash; and compared to a child, they were. "DO YOU WANT SOME OF THIS?" he asked--"IN TRADE?"