“You know what this place needs?” Franz asked from behind the stump acting as his pulpit. The forest around him seemed to have grown into a natural amphitheater. Large willows were intertwined behind him, reflecting his voice back out towards the audience among the trees. “It needs more dragons.”

A rustle spread through the assembled crowd. It started with the trees, and seeped out from there. The children of the trees trilled to each other across branches, while the children of the earth rumbled between the roots.

With a wave of his arms, and a stamp of his hooves, Franz quieted the crowd. “I know what you’re thinking, but allow me to expound.” The mass of attendants seemed ready to resume complaining, but the trees shivered their consent. “I’m sure you’ve all seen it. The magic no longer flows in the trees. Stalworth is as dry as a rock. If we are to rectify this, then we will need dragons. As for how we bring them back, well that’s easy.” Franz paused, holding up a quill. “We write about them.”