Though Aylin was, as usual, walking at the front of their little group — eager as always to see what was around the next bend in the road — she was not the first to notice the dragon. Her attention this day was on a weathered old map she held in her hands, a crinkled bit of parchment whose ink had begun to fade. The map grew less and less detailed the further inland one looked, and while the road group was travelling on did appear on the map, Greenest itself did not. The golden-haired sun elf frowned as she stared at it, cocking her head and trying to puzzle out exactly how far they’d come. They hadn’t reached the crossroads yet, so somewhere before that, but… had the mapmaker meant for this curve to represent that hill back there? Or had they just been kind of guessing?
It was the sudden loss of Armarille’s song that caught her attention. Aylin glanced up to see what was wrong, and her elven eyes caught a glint of the dragon wheeling far above. The monk stopped dead in her tracks at the sight, breath catching in her throat. After all this time hoping to see another dragon, there one was — majestic and beautiful as she remembered. And terrible. Winged death to the city below.
Aylin’s map crinkled as her hand twitched. She quickly stowed it in her pack, then hastened her stride to catch back up with Armarille. “Quickly,” she added in agreement, ready to break into a run towards the city. Aylin had been wary of the drow when they’d first met, but her reaction here showed why she’d begun to earn the sun elf’s trust.