Chapter VI : Fyra Oyer

The sun had just started to peek above the horizon along the borders of the land known as Dreka, and a smoky wind had started to whip in across the burnt, rocky alcoves of nearby Eldur. The smell was strong and unpleasant, and the small dragon’s nose began to flutter as he lay sleeping. The breeze added a quiet soundtrack, as if the voices of all those that no longer lived amongst those charred fields, once teeming with grasslands and crops, had somehow left residual echoes in the air itself. The creature’s eyes lazily clicked open, blinking slowly as he sat up and looked across at his surroundings.
He was outside his farm, laying in the garden. There had been a storm, and it had passed- he knew that too. He’d had a strange dream, a tremendous and terrifying, all-encompassing and brilliant bit of non-reality, but felt more refreshed than he had from a night’s slumber than he could remember. But then, what was his memory? It was his land, his soil he sat in, but not.
Inside his head, two things stepped to the front of his consciousness, both declaring they were the answer. Each side seemed separate, but strangely one and the same. It was not the way he usually felt when he awoke, but not entirely unpleasant.
One thing they could agree on was that they were hungry. The hurricane had passed and it was time for a meal. He saw his crops, noting that several were ready to harvest. This is my food, he noted. I grew this. I made it and nobody else helped. This is me.
He cocked his head slightly and smiled at the idea, rising from the dirt and shaking himself off. Yessiree, I’ll eat myself a good breakfast and go into town to see who else is around. Maybe they need to get somewhere themselves and I can show them, because I know I’m now good at that too. This is also me.
The creature felt power in his fingertips, a swelling of energy and influence he hadn’t had before. He wasn’t sure what the storm had brought, but he felt clearer and more focused than he could ever remember. Something had changed. Something good.
* * *
The dragon made himself a fine meal that morning, all picked with his own claws. While grabbing a batch of ween-tatoes and brushing them free, his eyes caught sight of something else nearby. Sitting half-covered in the ground was a large hat, which he picked up and shook off. It was much too big for him, but he placed it on his head anyway. It felt quite right, almost perfect, and he cocked a sly grin as he set off in the direction of the village nearby.
I am Oversizedhat, he knew. Get along, little doggie.