[🎶 WOW – Zara Larsson.]
Myreen of Thrasos, the red dragon, licked at her giant forked tail on the banks of the island. The sun was diving down the sky and painted the horizon, from sea to shore, a wet gold. Contrary to what the history books said, dragons were much alike to cats than was accounted for.
They bathed themselves, and didn't shit in public.
Myreen had secured the surrounding of the island as hers; she had roared off the few Spectres who'd dared intrude—all to serve her Mistress's bidding and secure the Blood Prince until his healing was finished. The darned [Guardian] wolf had kept pestering her. Even now, it lay beside her huge body on the the beach, furry little as a toy.
'Cute, but can never be a mate,' she observed.
Myreen abruptly dropped her tail when she spotted the forehelm of an approaching ship. The tip was like a spear in the waning light of dusk. Her horned head lifted up in interest. So did the dog's at her feet.
