Farloft, the dragon, had been living in this region for centuries. Once a friend of man, as the years passed he had become shunned. Now he lived quietly in his mountain top retreat - an observer rather than a participant in the lives of humans.
Now, Farloft sat on a rocky perch above the entrance to his lair, his piercing golden eyes following the approaching wizard.
The cold morning air had no effect on him - dragons felt neither hot nor cold. His observation of Laval began early this morning. He first caught sight of the wizard through the fog on the valley floor as he emerged from the forest below out onto the plain. The human would need an hour or so to wind his way up the path to the cave.
Farloft flexed his iridescent green wings in the morning sun as it caressed the mountain top, his wing span as large as any sail on the ships at sea. His massive claws bit at the stone of the ledge to keep him from involuntarily taking flight. He wanted to hunt this morning, but with the wizard's pending arrival his stomach would have to wait.
Farloft's last experience with Laval was a most unpleasant memory. The dragon did not intend to leave his lair unguarded. He gave only a momentary thought to flying down to meet the wizard, than thought better of it.
Best to sit and wait.
Best he let the wizard come to him.
Best to be on your own ground when dealing with someone that could not be trusted.
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