Diamot

When night falls on the Windswept Plateau, many a tale is told, to hatchling and dragon grown alike, of the folk hero Diamot. Some origins place him as a being of pure energy, born from the breath of the Windsinger himself; others have him come from more humble beginnings, the youngest and smallest of his brood. Some odder stories even claim that he was not originally of the Wind flight—though such discussions are better left to experts. Regardless, all say that he is as tricky to grasp as the breeze, perhaps a little too proud for his own good, and to him and his actions is attributed many a phenomenon: the roll of the hills, the changing of the seasonal winds, the gentle sighs of the evening that cause the chimes to tinkle softly in the dark.

Are any of these things true? Of course not. Still, when the end of a particularly good story is met by a sudden zephyr that smells of some exotic incense—one may begin to wonder.