• Sitting high atop the cathedral balcony, the young Wyvern, Cythra, let out a strenuous groan. It had been days since her last meal and she knew full well that consuming a human would get her killed. Also, she didn't want to blow her cover. Most humans didn't even believe that dragons exist. She didn't want a lot of attention, so lying low on the scale was all she needed to be sufficed.

    Cythra elongated her magnificent wings, flexed her back, and dove down into the clouds, tucking her small forearms into her bust and streamlining into the wind. Considering how there had been a war between dragons and the humans centuries ago, which has only been passed down as a legend, she was trying her best not to be annihilated by her only hope of staying alive.

    Day after long day the young dragon would sail high above the clouds, searching for another of her kin, a hope to survive. She flew past a mountain, pausing mid-air to lock gazes with a grey, intimidating male dragon. Like the one she saw, the celestial dragons of Nephoral were the top predators. They could communicate with their own language and knew many native tongues of other species as well. He snarled at her, smoke drifting from his nostrils, he told her to leave. Scared, she quickly flew away from the mountain.

    Cythra was one of the few decendants of the infamous Tol'Kzak Winterglade, the high priest of the Draconic Matriarch. Cythra constantly thought about her ancestors and what had happened to them, believing that one day she would finally figure out the truth.

    She had been flying for a few hours now, searching the snowy ground for a spot to land and recuperate from the long flight. She spotted a soft embankment and slowly lowered her tremendous body to the ground. She looked around, searching for any signs of prey or water, at least. Cythra dug her monstrous talons into the ground. Through the fog she could see a figure slowly limping towards her. She hissed and kept herself low to the ground focusing her vision on the new target, who would be easy and easy meal.

    It was a boy. A young boy. He couldn't have been carrying any weapons, because the only thing he had was tattered clothes. Cythra sat back up and sheathed her poisonous spines into her back. There wasn't a reason to be defensive. The boy was lost, afraid and alone. As the boy neared her, she could see that he had many wounds, and dried blood on his head. She lay down before him and lowered her wings. The boy, who looked about 10 years old, looked up into her eyes, shivered violently, and collapsed into the snow. Cythra reared up, picked him up and gently held him in her claws for a few seconds. She dug deep into the ground, creating a nice, warm burrow for her and her new friend to stay till the blizzard passed. She lay down and held him close. She breathed on him, her warm breath seemed to gradually heal the boy's wounds. He finally opened his bright, blue eyes and smiled, wrapping his arms as best he could around Cythra's toe and embraced her in a hug. Cythra smiled. She finally found someone who cared, someone just like her.