Ugly beast.

Feral, listens to no one.

Too deformed to be a worthy mount.

You'd heard all the whispers regarding Sheepstealer. The beast had taken out more bastards than any of the unclaimed dragons combined, and everyone had given up trying. His pure wild nature meant he didn't understand High Valyrian commands, and wasn't trained for battle. And if a dragon couldn't battle, the Targaryans didn't want it.

But you didn't want to tame a dragon just to force it into a bloody war. You didn't want a pet or a servant to control. You wanted a partner.

And so your endeavors began. You brought parchment and charcoal with you to the volcanic mountain where Sheepstealer was said to nest. Sitting several feet away, you'd watch the huge dragon eat whatever sheep you'd slain for him and draw.

Sheepstealer was deformed, that was true. His claws were shaped wrong and his wingtips were crooked. You'd never seen him fly, but you had to imagine it wasn't as graceful as Silverwing or Syrax. He was thin and scarred from decades of solitude, his scales rougher than the pampered dragons in the Dragonpit.

But his jaw was the most obvious problem. The underbite and wildly crooked teeth made eating a struggle. Sheepstealer would whip his long neck around just to chew his meal. The sight still made you wince after weeks of feedings.

So today you would try something bolder. You sat right by the dead sheep and started tearing pieces off. Sheepstealer was unusually still, watching intently as you ripped up the carcass. A low rumble came from him, clicking in his throat. He wasn't burning you yet, so he must have started to trust you just a little.

Trembling, you held out a strip of meat.