Kasthras the Pure, Herald of the Winter Wind, groaned softly as she woke from her slumber, and for a moment had to sift through sensory impressions to filter out what had disturbed her. (She'd been having SUCH a good dream, too, one where she finally bested Vultok of the Ember Skies and embarrassed him in front of their mother...) Finally, she lifted her head, swinging to look toward the tertiary entry to her lair. Singing, although the specific dialect wasn't familiar - some kind of shepherd song?
The song cut off with a yelp when she shoved her head through the bank of snow and ice obscuring the entry, nearly bowling over the young halfling who had been sitting next to it watching a herd of goats. The goats, well aware of the dragon-filled cave, were less impressed, and continued chewing half-frozen lichen off the rocks, wiggling their tails.
"Who are you, and why are you disturbing-" Kasthras broke off, squinting down the slope toward what had, when she dozed off, been a pristine valley with a meltwater river flowing through it. Now, the river remained, but a town had cropped up along it. "Never mind. Where did that come from?"
The youth, following her glare, coughed a little. "Winter Hollow? It's been there near half a century, miss. Uh... Is it okay to call you miss? Should I say ma'am or lady or something else instead?"
"...Miss will do, if you must. Do you know who I am, little morsel?"
"Kasthras the Pure, miss, Herald of the Winter Wind, Guardian of the Winter Hollow?"
"Sorry, say that last again?"
"Oh, uh, Guardian of the Winter Hollow."
"Why would I be the guardian of some town?"
The youth looked a bit nervous while the goats bleated amongst themselves. "Well, as I was told it growing up, the town was founded because some folks were desperate enough to try to be safe in a dragon's territory, and as an offering the elders staked a goat out every season. You didn't eat the goats and didn't destroy the town, so they figured you must be okay with 'em being there, and then treasure hunters started showin' up and we kept misdirectin' 'em because we were all pretty sure you must still be alive and we'd rather be on your good side when you eventually showed up. And the last decade or so, we've even started having a festival in your honor. There's even an ice-sculpting contest where we try and make the best dragon sculpture!"
"I was asleep."
"An' we've been tryin' to keep your nap uninterrupted, miss. Sorry if it was my singing that disturbed you, I didn't know your kip was here." After a moent's pause, the youth added, "The winter festival actually starts tonight. They're gonna start the sculptin' at sundown. If you wanted to come down, I bet they'd be thrilled to have you as the real live guest of honor an' all, and the sculptors could get to see what you really look like. The sculptures have been nice before, but they sure didn't do you proper justice, miss."
"Guest of honor, you say. And townsfolk who would wish to make art in tribute to me?"
"Yes, miss."
"You, goats. I know you're not as empty of thought as you pretend. Mind yourselves and go home at the appointed time." One of the nannies lifted her head and snorted. "Good. Now you, morsel- What is your name?"
"My parents named me Alfalfa, miss, but folks call me Alfie."
"Very well, Alfie, come into my hand and we will descend to your village, where you may tell them you were witness to the return of Kasthras the Pure, who has chosen to grace your festival this year and judge the worth of your artists."
"Yes, miss!"






























