The dragon sleeps in a field of lilies for it soothes the scent of cinder, as he lets the birds rest and create nests upon the warmth of his scales. As his chest slowly rises and falls his breath whistles through the forest as a sweet sarinading lullaby slowly leading the animals to a place of serenity. It blows through like a summer breeze wrestling the trees giving comfort to even the busy bees, he brings peace to the land.
And yet here stands man sword in hand trespassing into his home land with diluted dreams of glory and fame sets off to mame, him the dragon, the peaceful, the home, the sweet song of the forest and the summer winds on a cold winters night.
Now the dragons body lies dead, no warmth for the birds, so they fly amok and begin to pluck the hair from the warm heads of man. with no song of peace sung by their king the animals begin to war for the throne and in the winter the weak die off frozen. The once peaceful land is now a Graveyard of the damned.
