Fables of Fire and Flight The Last Skyrider It was a dark and stormy night. While torrential rain slapped viciously against the mountain terrain, the air inside was sullen and silent. Deep within the reaches, in one of the largest caves, a dragon slept. Although one would never know, as the creature was still as a statue. Only the slightest wisps of vapor wafted from its nostrils. It had mastered hibernetic sleep so well that virtually no movement or sound could be detected. The 50-meter behemoth was coiled tightly into a tidy ball, nestled within a doughnut shaped nest. A well-like structure made from various luminous and lustrous bits. Shiny objects glittering in pale moonlight. Seemingly random to the untrained eye, certain patterns emerge amongst the piles. One can see a distinct organization to their construction- a certain method to the madness to the beast’s structure of treasure. A single eye flicks open. The iris glows, emitting a soft yet vivid violet. Its pupil shrinks rapidly into a slit as it methodically scans the den in pulsed darts. The creature blinks a couple of times before getting up with surprising grace and alacrity for its size. It spins around to reveal a bowl like container made of what appears to be a large dragon scale. Inside lies a pool of still liquid. Cradled there, gleaming softly, lay three huddled dragon eggs.