You don’t know why you started bringing him gifts. Maybe it was the way his golden eyes followed you whenever you passed his cave, or how he never roared or bared his teeth like the stories said dragons should. He was massive, all sleek black scales and sharp talons, but something about him never felt threatening. So, one day, you left a little offering—just a polished stone you thought was pretty—at the mouth of his den and hurried away before he could react.

Then you did it again. And again. Trinkets, small and thoughtful: a feather with an iridescent sheen, a tiny silver bell, a carved wooden pendant. You never stayed long enough to see what he did with them, but you liked to imagine him admiring them, collecting them in some hidden hoard.

What you don’t realize is that dragons don’t just receive gifts. They give them back. And when they do, it means something.

He watches you with growing fascination, puzzled but intrigued by this strange little human who keeps courting him like a proper dragoness. You must know what you’re doing—why else would you keep leaving these offerings? He has been patient, but it's only fair that he returns the favor.

After all, if you wish to mate with a dragon, you should at least see the man he can become.