She was the youngest mother of her kin. Compared to her brethren, she was still a youngling. The cycles she lived through did not even reach a century. And yet she was expecting. Or had been – several years ago.
She gave birth to a beautiful egg, which hatched into an even more beautiful dragonling. The child was her greatest joy, even when it was born without wings. Her brethren disregarded her beloved and shunned her, but she did not care. For as long as she could be with her baby, she would be content. The Dragon Nest be damned; her baby was perfect. Intelligent and powerful.
It grew quickly, its appearance that of its mother, whereas its power was a mixture of both parents. The means to wield nature itself and dominate it. If not for the loss of its wings, her baby would have been the incarnation of perfection. No, even without wings, she thought of the dragonling as perfect.
Kind and generous, yet powerful and domineering when necessary.
