As Dathla left, two pairs of eyes watched her retreat.
“Who do you think that was?” The owl inquired, swiveling his head. The reptile glanced up, startled at being found amongst the detritus and decadence.

“How do you always find me?”

“Eyes and ears, my overgrown lizard.” The owl said with a twitch.

“Screw you!” The reptile retorted in mock indignation, “I’m a dragon!”

“Wherever did one so young learn such language?” The owl hooted back. “And what sort of dragon has no wings, fire, or crest?”

“I’ve been through a lot, you know. Still, I’m too young for my first fire, and haven’t grown into my wings just yet.”

“What of the crest? Haven’t grown into that one either?”

“Silly bird! Only the males grow those.” The reptile paused. “I wish I could meet one.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” The owl reminded her. “Who do you think that was?”

The reptile glanced out of the sagging chapel doors, staring out into the twilight. “She’s one of the few that still believes in me, and she’s our only hope.”