Nuage

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Nobody, let alone me, knows how or why I got here. When recounting the story, they'll often get a faraway look in their eyes, describing how it felt to float high in the sky, far higher than any ordinary dragon could ever dream to go. Time moved differently up there - slowly and gently - but I was up there quite a long time, I think. Dragons regard themselves as long-living creatures, but their scale is vastly shorter than the one I knew.

One day a storm came, they'll say, which was usually never a problem for me. I was used to it - the wind would blow me this way and that, until I'd coast through to the other side, easily riding on the currents. This time, however, was different. A great heaviness came over me - the floating suddenly felt like a struggle, and I realized I was dipping lower and lower, until I was separated from my people. A frown comes over their features, and their eyes glisten. When I came to, I was down here, perched on the thin edge of the cliff.

Depending on their audience for the story, they'll receive glances of sympathy, or awkward coughs and aversions of eyes. Nuage isn't always sure how to interpret dragon expressions, yet. They've tried to fly back to the height they once ruled, coasting over the sky, but their dragon lungs falter far before they can reach it.

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