The man had known the coming of the storm long before it appeared in the overcast sky. Each of his golden scales pulsed slightly from the feeling of static forming in the air. Such a sign foretold the great intensity of the coming tempest, and warned the man to find shelter before it arrived.
He knew of many holes in the rocky terrain, many places that would stay dry even during the most severe of storms. He traveled up the rocky incline towards the closest of these hideouts, his spear serving as little more than a decorative silver walking stick. On is way, the man collected spare bits of wood under his arm. Twigs, fallen branches, dried saplings, all the makings of kindling he would need. The night would be long, but more pleasurable with the warmth of a fire.
By the time that the gale began to blow, the golden-scaled man was already well established in his natural earthen shelter. His power over lightning created the first spark that had since evolved into a small flame. More wood lay along the cave wall, fuel for maintaining it. The man did not even blink as the first drops began to fall outside. He simply tended to the growing blaze as he sat comfortably beside it.
He did look up, however, as something unexpected happened. All he could do was watch silently as his mind made sense of the sight. He had a visitor.