~The golden child--the prodigal daughter--she who walks wreathed in smoke and adoration~

"Hey Forge! How goes it?" a large Imperial's head poked through the entrance to the Banescale's cavern, balking at the heat and refusing to enter entirely. The Banescale turned, a surprisingly delicate hammer and set of tongs held in her claws. In front of her, a twining metal circlet glowed with the heat of her namesake.

"Sunset. You don't often come by while the fires are burning," Forge set down her tools and lumbered toward her friend, her proud head wreathed with smoke which never quite seemed to dull her burnished golden scales.

The other dragon wrinkled her lips, showing her teeth in a grin. "Still smells too much like my homeland," she moved, giving Forge room to enter the hallway, her sinuous body simultaneously filling the space and too lithe to truly make one feel claustrophobic around her. "If I wanted my mane scented like charcoal I'd fly over a volcano."

Forge nuzzled her, careful to keep her horns away from her friend's soft scales. "It's been too long, Sunny; I thought you'd forgotten me, what with all of your new lair-mates."

[to be continued]