long ago, in a kingdom far ago. there were dragons, beasts of great power and majesty. For years the beast's had burnt, slaughtered and smashed their way through the far kingdoms. One day, a dragon, Valgoroth the Great, found himself in a very different fate. he had scorched a village, slaughtered the cattle, and the people were simply nothing but shrapnel. the dragon was almost done, when he heard a whine. it crawled around his head like chimney vines. the dragon swooped down, landing on the earth. and searched the ground and up on the turf. amongst the rumble, he found a young boy, alone, and small, clinging to a toy. the dragon stared, unsure of what to do. he'd never been put in a situation so new. the dragon reared back, preparing his fire, he knew that the child's life was so very dire. something made him stop, his fire on the brink, he twisted the flame, and felt his soul sink. he couldn't do it, to someone so young. but then he realised what he had truly done. all the people, women and boys, all of the people, were now nothing but smouldering ploys. it clawed at his head. it made him hurt. he stumbled and groaned and shuddered and gurked. then he looked at the child, so small, so weak. he took it in its claws, and flew to his great peak. so say the meek child still lives to this day, and that he's flying with his dragon till the day breaks away.