Samson

Samson was not considered healthy by most Coatl standards. With a soot-grey feathers and pale, sickly-green fur, most of his brethren shunned him. He was not deeply gleaming like his mother or striking like his father. He was just a smudge in the Ashfall Wastes.

He did not leave because he felt there was more for him out there - in fact, he would have preferred being nowhere at all. But he got along. He learned at a young age to hunt, find shelter, navigate, and heal wounds. Other skills were picked up with more difficulty. Bartering, for example, was almost impossible due to his upbringing. A Fire native in all-Coatl territory, Samson had never heard common Draconian before. Ideas had to be conveyed through body language, paw signals, and the occasional crude drawing for more complex ideas. Hearing the same words come up in the marketplace and lone speech practice in the woods brought his language skills up to the level of an adolescent dragon's.

Another difference he found was the wearing of clothes. Members of his old clan did very little to cover their bodies. Temperatures were already scorching, and their coats provided all the skin protection they needed. But here, clothes were a commodity. They could provide a look that a dragon couldn't achieve on their own. To someone shunned all their life due to their coloring, the appeal was immense.

He began saving his pelts, making crude jackets with them. His first pieces were shoddy made and had clashing colors. But, with time and practice, he became quite adept at making apparel of all kinds.