Poster caught this one's eye on way to market. Didn't spot before but inspired chuckle. Precious yowls wondering why pretty picture amuses. Will explain later for sure.

"If any knowing of mysterious visitors leaving in the night, their acquaintance is requested. "Bold fashion choices of tasteful red and white require impressed compliments and dazzling dragon adornment desired for closer inspection and crafter recommendations. "Such good taste! "Whose friends? Visitors? Family? Acquaintances? "Also man drop a few things before fast flight away, likely wants back. They quite useful. Any knowing him well please visit or direct to Mystplaced Wishes for arrangements." "Gratitude for permitting brief interruption. Gentle return to hallowed festivities." (Sending with love to fellow Hatchmere villagers, dragons, and dragon enthusiasts. Merry Christmas! ❤️🎄🌟)

Who they are: - [??] is without a name but currently responds to most summons and suiting nicknames. She usually refers to herself in third-person as "this one". She is a modest traveling merchant selling unclaimed wishes from an empty satchel. - Precious is her bonded dragon, whom she's raising and loves like a son. What they look like: -[??]- - Her kind have been called many things, but she herself resembles a very expressive and animated, short, person-sized, dark Siamese cat with labradorite-blue eyes. - Precious describes her as caramel colored with warm soot capping her extremities. And, in the right lighting, she is. But she's truly darker and often confused for a black cat, especially with all her layers on. - Her apparel is humble and foreign in design and style, set in worn neutral tones or very faded colors. She usually wears a cowl with slits for her ears over a mantle, shawl, and simple tunic over her traveling trousers with shoes that protect her padded feet from the ground without confining them. - Her dark-tipped tail is usually visible and in motion, but she rarely thinks about it. - Precious- - Precious is a growing black dragon with inky, raven-black scales and golden eyes like bright glowing embers. - Black smoke emits from his mouth when he eats and if he stretches just right, a golden glow is visible from beneath his scales like a crack peeking through - this becomes harder to see as he gets older. - His main horns stretch back and swoop regally, the secondary set is a little straighter, lesser hooked horns line his back, head, and shoulders - His body has a strong, athletic build with legs sturdier than his wings and his tail. (His tail subconsciously mirrors [??]'s but he also he doesn't think about it.) - Precious holds himself tall with excellent posture and moves with intent and determination Truths: - [??] doesn't need a name but may accept individual or affectionate nicknames - She won't accept or seek easy wealth or extravagant gifts despite her circumstances. Precious will accept such offerings graciously. - Wishes require payment - Mystery bag wishes are intended to be fun and a surprise, even if they're mediocre or simple. - Wishes are not to be decided by the recipient. (There's so many ways to craft or discover an item of your choosing, enjoy the mystery story-device element.) - Stealing the bag may be a fun encounter; however, the bag must be returned - or will return - in a reasonable amount of time. Only one item can be retrieved in this circumstance but previous truths apply. (You've been warned.) - There are reasons things are as they are. - Precious will discover his first power in time. - Precious has only begun his journey. - [??]'s dialect is due to translating her native tongue to this one and her current chosen path. She will likely only use first-person or personal identifying terms around Precious. - [??] has a few surprising talents. (We'll see if they come up.) - Change is inevitable.

My mind swims in confounded oblivion clinging to Mother's reassuring voice, soothing warmth, and comforting thrum. Aches and relief crash into me like waves until a chilled consciousness stirs me. Familiar smells surround me: musty wood beams, stale straw, burning oil, old leather, precious metal, and Mother. But I don't feel her warmth or thrum. My bleary eyes open to the lantern that lights up the loft. A luxury for us as Mother doesn't want light to let others know where we live. Mother? I call out in mind and voice, it sounds weaker than usual. I hate this. I lift my head and swivel my gaze peering about the whole of the barn. I don't see her but I smell her. Looking down I realizes she draped her shawl around me, wrapped something over my head, and left her bag to the side. My head aches and I close my eyes trying to block it out until it dawns on me. My eyes snap back to the abandoned bag. Mother... left it?? She never goes without it! Never leaves it behind! It may as well be her first child - but there it is, just left haplessly on the loft floor. Shifting and creaking boards snap my attention to the window Mother has been using for a door. Mother worries that each snowfall will make the main doors hard to open and the cold harder to keep out. She latches the window shut and turns to me holding a bundle her clouds of breath dispersing as she adjusts to the warmth. "Precious!" She coos in a voice that makes me both cringe and relieved as she charges toward me quickly ascending the ladder. Mother scoops me up and holds me close and I sink into her, holding onto her tighter than usual. It's so rare to see her more clearly without her shawl hiding her and the darkness obscuring her. This is Mother. Carmel coated with warm soot capping each extremity, I melt into her yearning for comfort and balm. Mother hums her lullaby as she tends to me, feeding me, and soothing me. She added herbs to the savory meat that dull the pain and ointment to my bound wound. Her touch is gentle and deliberate, and though she hides it under her calm. I sense her worry.

We remain hidden in the woods, out of sight of all. There are beings around us, but we pay them no mind. We watch the small ones first. They run about screaming, chasing each other with wild abandon. They pay attention to nothing. Not even themselves. Curious creatures. But not all small ones behave so. We observe one closely. She plucks a multi‑colored, sweet‑smelling thing from the ground and presents it to a larger being. The larger one smiles and accepts the offering. Noises pass between them. A noise repeats from each of them. Ah… something to latch onto. We listen. We hear the noise again… here… there… We see the embraces that follow it, the changes in their faces, the quickening of their life force. We know this feeling. We feel this with Mother. Warmth. Connection. Belonging. Tis .......... *LOVE*. Does this noise from them mean the same? We search more. We match the noises they make to words we have spoken to Mother so many, many times before. Their language builds within us. Slowly. Painfully. It is sometimes sharp and guttural, other times pleasant and soothing. At first we catch only fragments, not enough to learn. But it grows. We grow. Still… we need a teacher. And that smell… How can one concentrate at all with the glorious scent oozing from this place of beings and dead things? It curls around us, warm and inviting, pulling at our senses. We are Stormfire. We watch. We listen. We learn. Mother will be proud of her child.