Gar watched as Rag, carrying a single twinkling scale under his arm, walked out into the evening and disappeared over the edge of the mountain slope. He smiled. It was amazing what a little bit of light in the right place could do.
“Fascinating,” he heard Soot squeak.
The dragon turned to look at the elder, who was, in turn, eyeing him curiously.
“What is?” Gar rumbled.
“You are, of course. How do you speak in our tongue with such grace?”
“Twenty-one years of constant study works wonders for learning languages, I’ve found. I was worried that my lack of practice might cause a brief barrier, but I suppose I have a gift for such things.”
Soot shook his head in wonder. “I must admit, I’m baffled. I have seen many beasts in my time, but I have never met one with such regard for the lives of lesser beings.”
Gar nodded sagely. “If there is one thing that I have learned over the years, it is that all stories hold merit and meaning, no matter how small. To cut those stories short is a travesty even more tragic than the loss of their characters.” He turned back to the dissapearing sun. “Mice, in particular, have always been inspiring to me. You are so quick to find faith - so full of conviction, and hope for the brighter tomorrow. Every being could stand to learn something from you.”
Soot chuckled. “And here I was afraid you were just going to eat me.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Gar yawned, and set his head back down on his claws with a ground-shaking thump. He looked at the elder with one lidded, mirthful eye. “I’ll still eat you. I’ll just wait until you’re dead to do it.”