It's a dragoon, not dragon. It's a cavelry
That day, Laying out of a parched and mudded window, I for the first time inhaled and truly took in the world around the village. The flowing hills of minted grass, seemed a normal insight on any unimportant day. My mother stood hunched over a small wooden pail, her ruby hair bristling in the wind and scattered across her emerald attire, seemed perfectly at ease. My Two baby brothers, Athdar and Bedyw, were playing in the overgrown courtyard, chewing on their toys. This was a normal day but the only difference, the only thing that made me look above the mountains was the approaching crowd. A formation of golden dragoons enshrouded the windswepped landscape with a menacing approach. The village leaders new of this day. The future was foretold many months ago, when a dispute was aggravated by Gorsedd, the elderly and wise man who sustained our village through the toughest cold seasons known. He called to the gods and saved us all. No-one quite knew what’d happened but we all knew they were coming.
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