Reverie

Modern scholars classify the Menagerie as a space-time pocket. “It shouldn’t exist,” they say, “but somehow it still does.” Scholars from all over Sornieth love to take excursions into the Menagerie, supervised by the leaders. Even the dragons living there agree. “Some kind of warp,” they say, “A freak of nature, but natural nonetheless.”

And yet.

Not a single resident will deny the feeling of magic under their paws. The same magic that threads through the earth and wafts through the air; the same magic that flows with the water and warms the scales on their backs. Once in a while, a new resident would be ever so curious as to try and track it…

Something always stops them before they get too far.

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At the bottom of a valley sits a lonely statue.

It has been overrun with moss and lichen, clear signs of weathering chip away at its face. Mice and snakes have taken residence in the shelter it lends, and spiders have woven many a web across it.

When the wind blows, the statue breathes.