Silver
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There had never been. It was the Eve of Talock, and Cliff Arhdou had one last load of firewood to deliver before he could join the celebrations. The forest opened up before him, and the hum of his Kei-truck was quiet as it ran over the foliage. He glanced around the hinterland, breathing in the scent of pine. The breeze that brushed past his window came with nostaglia of old children's tales and working at his grandfathers shrine. Memories that had long since faded. There was an abrupt jolt that pulled him out his stupor, the impact creating throbs in the base of his neck, and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Black spots swirled, and he felt fingers of nausea caress their way up to his throat. Clamoring out of the vehicle, he swiped the remains of breakfast off his lips and steadied himself on the door as he looked above himself; his eyes were met by a mass of flesh, its long neck twisted in an unnatural manner, and its eyes remained opened and lifeless.
