Pickle

It had been 3 weeks since Pickle had returned from her self-imposed exile into the wilds. She didn't think anyone had recognized her, or heard tales of her departure from the colony-- although she didn't leave many to tell those tales, and the forest's secrecy could always be trusted.

She had been eager to return to the gardens after so long and be free to hunt fish in the wetlands once again, but this return home didn't feel quite as she'd envisioned. She had carved out a promising home for her growing clan. Her servants were establishing nests, collecting treasures for her hoard, and fighting for her glory-- it just felt different than she imagined it would.

She was happy to be back by open waters, but the other dragons in the forest had changed... there was a lack of the primordial viciousness that she had long enjoyed in The Gladekeeper's domain. The pacification of these druids sickened her. She had sacrificed many of her servants to The Gladekeeper's service, but his favor did not fall on her. She no longer felt the predatory instincts of the trees themselves embracing her. She no longer felt the wildlife's lust for blood in the water and the air. In its place all she felt was compassionate warmth in the leaves around her. This was not how a druid was supposed to live. Pickle felt a deep cold coursing into her heart.