• she sat, humming gently by a gove of young apple trees when a wail reached her slim nearly translucent green ears. she lept to her feet, fragrant flower petals dusting the ground lightly. she was familiar with that wail, she had once produced a similar sound, the day they stole her mother. that was centuries ago, when we still existed here. she danced; for to say a dryad walked would be like saying a lion was meerly a cat, t'wards the wail, her steps light as a breeze on the soft felt grass. she came to a glade. the evenings dark red sunlight glinted off of something, dragonscale. she rushed to the beast, but it was too late, a yawning hole in its ivy green breast, its heart torn from it. she wept silently for it, nectar flowing down her cheeks, bitter-sweet, for what could be sweet when so mighty and pure a creature had fallen to mans greed. again the wail, this time more subdued, forlorn. she climbed over the deadbeasts tail and discovered a miniature copy of the beast on wich she stood, curled around itself,trembling like a leaf in a gale. she began a soft dirge for the lost one. the drakkling looked up to her red eyes shining. dragons in her forest were creatures of song, to hear anothers voice was a comfort to the orphan. they crawled to eachother, and she held the drakkling as she sang, his thin wavery voice joining hers. they were all they had now, narry a mother betwix them. the sun set its voice being replaced by the cold,clear voice of the moon. they were alone now, alone...together.