Snowflakes danced in the wind, falling onto Maigrod's scales and Athran's armour. They got caught on the fur, lining his exquisite cape, woven from thick wool, and sled off the iron plates of his armour. Wind was blowing strongly, sweeping the snow into his eyes and onto his hair.
He was a messenger again, taking a letter to some noble in Fallial. As a veteran knight, he had few duties except battle and defense of his homeland, but one of those was delivery of important messages. Dragons were the swiftest of all mounts, racing with the wind itself, their wings like a thunderstorm, and their riders were reliable. Athran enjoyed being sent with messages to nobles and kings - usually, he got fed well and it was a simple task. What he got from it was better than killing for money.
Vast forests appeared on the misty hills beneath, covered in snow. Smoke rose from houses in small villages under them, turning in the fierce wind. A city, encircled by tall walls, appeared before their eyes - that must have been Novastone, Athran's destination. Maigrod slowly begun descending, brisking up his flight towards the fortress amid the city. Wind wailed in Athran's ears as he pressed himself onto Maigrod's shoulders and neck, and pulled the bridles back.
They quickly rushed above the walls of the city and flew over the houses. Surprised villagers turned their heads up in awe, wonder and also fear, most of them seeing a dragon for the first time of their lives. Athran didn't pay attention to their excited faces and pointing hands, instead leading Maigrod towards the courtyard before the house where the nobles, the Aniani, were said to live. It wasn't looking very expensive or big, but it was quite sturdy and simple like the rest of the region. The dragon spread his wide wings, and slowly landed amid the courtyard before the fortress. A cloud of soft snow arose around him, and slowly fell back. Maigrod shook it off his scales, standing tall in his armour of impenetrable charcoal scales, his crimson eyes, shining like fire, sliding from one side of the building to another.
Athran unbuckled the belts that secured him in the saddle and pulled his feet out of the bridles, jumped into the snow beside his mount. There was no one around, and so he grabbed his horn and three times blown into it. Its sound was loud and fierce, like thunder in a raging storm, echoing from the walls. After that he stood still, waiting for someone to come and take his message.
Snow was falling peacefully down, landing on his shoulders and black-haired head.
