Brynjar

The hope was that Brynjar would turn into a great warrior. Stout on the battlefield and swift as the wind.
For a long time he believed that this was what he should be and never dared to even think otherwise.

The blood ridden flanks of his fellow dragons did not bother him, he barely even saw it. Everything was simply doing as told and never ask why. Day in and day out he was beaten down in training till even the trainers refused to even think about sending him to fight the good fight. With him in the ranks the flight would turn weak and would surely lose the war fought for many, many generations.

Back in the lair he put himself to bring forth a new generation. But where his mates and lair companions saw the bright smile, sparkling scale or gently eyes, Brynjar saw nothing.
He walked the paths but never saw anything. Worked as hard as others, but never gained any insight in anything.

One day he saw his brother returning to the lair after being gone for months. Walking the paths without a name, fighting fights without ever shedding who he was. He spoke as how he only now deserved a name. Now he had proven to himself who he was.

Brynjar had taken on the name at birth. Everybody spoke highly of how he was named armored warrior, but he never had any skill in fighting. A hit weak enough to keep a nest undisturbed would know him down. So he left the lair.

He traveled for many weeks, never finding anything on the road ahead, till one day.
His colors were beginning to fade and hungry he lay down besides the well-worn path. Just staring at nothing. After many hours he realized he was lying near a road for ants. Some ants had stopped to look at him in the beginning, but all had turned back to work.

Raising his claw Brynjar wanted to crush several of them, proving to himself how useless it was to be weak, but as he watched for a good moment to crush them, he saw what they were doing.
Many where crawling over Brynjar and where cleaning out his scales for tasty morsels and useful stuff. Others where cutting down leaves of grass and taking it to the nests. Taking care to make room for seedlings on the ground to grow.
As he watched bees came by the flowers to pollinate them. Other insects crossed paths with the ants. Some passed without problems, others were killed or repelled.

As Brynjar placed his claw besides him, careful as not to disturb the ants, he looked around with new eyes. The rustle he always heard turned to the chipper song of birds. The gentle rushing of a small creek and even the sound of wind blowing over the grass.
As he stretches his wings wide he could feel the sun warming him while small flowers turned their head to catch more light. Each bright in the petals along the crisp green of the grass.
And for the very first time, he was happy.
His whole life he had been doing what he was told. Worked to be what others expected him to be, but he had never taken the time to see what was really out there.

As the sun set and stars came out, he turned to lay on his back. Looking at the twinkling lights and the dark clouds. Taking in the beauty of it all.
By the time he returned Brynjar was nothing as the dull coatl he had been. His colors where brighter than ever before and instead of waiting for orders, he looked around. Seeking beauty in everything and to share it with everybody.
From that day he toke hatchlings that seemed just as dull and bored as he had been with him. Showing them the wonders around them. Hoping that by seeing the world with eyes of interest, he would keep them from going through the world as he once had.
The world is not grey, it is silver.