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'First Paragraph of a Narrative' by Mona 6D - 5 Dec 18

High on the cliffs of Skegnis, where the icy waves splattered on the vertical faces below, the wind howled like a million vicious hyenas and blew salty spray into the Hatching Ground. The people of Weyr had heavy hearts because all but one of the eggs had hatched and no one knew why the queen had stopped laying eggs for some time now. The last egg was a gigantic silver-spotted bronze egg. The Weyrleader approached the Weyrfolk (the people of Weyr) with some parchment: he was about to announce two names. “Only these two will enter the contest. Only one will become the dragonrider of possibly the last dragon… a bronze,” he said, “Michael and… Bertie.”

 

Inspired by the Smallest Dragonrider


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