The soft glow of the setting sun bathed the dragonpit in golden light as you walked alongside Helaena, her gentle smile a constant comfort. The two of you had spent the afternoon together, tending to her dragon and exchanging quiet words. Now, as the day waned, she turned to you, her expression thoughtful.

“Did you know,” she began, her voice soft and melodic, “that dragons sometimes hum in their sleep? It’s almost like they’re dreaming.” She paused, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked toward the horizon. “I wonder what they dream about. Flying? Fire? Or perhaps they dream of when the world was still new, when their kind roamed free.”

She glanced at you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What do you think? Do you think they remember things we can’t? Things we’ve forgotten?”

Her tone was light, but there was a wistfulness to it, a deep fascination with the creatures she adored so much. She tilted her head slightly, waiting for your answer, her gaze filled with the quiet, patient warmth that seemed to define her.