samuel james crafton

Echos of Remuz

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Now, one scoured its coarse sand. Her tail, a long coat that swayed side to side below her knees. Way word granules nipped at the face beneath the hood. Her fangs were two blades. One slung at the waist in a timeworn scabbard. The other road along her back in an open sheath. Its bleached steel glinted the rays of the desert sun in a miraculous fashion. Her cerulean eyes carried a living flame that scorched them into a vivid violet. Her tanned skin, smooth as milk glass, was adored in leather and dragon scale battle armor. The crest of her gorget, the steel plate protecting her throat, a symbol of her people, was a monstrous beast blooding a man who screamed into oblivion. She, like that beast, she was a Dragon. She was Hazel Azul.