Aww... It’s a cute baby dragon. Its eyes glow brightly at night, and it enjoys attacking insects and small animals.

Young dragons are relatively defenseless. They are born with relatively soft scales, which are shed and replaced with harder ones as the hatchling matures. Once a hatchling’s wings grow in, it typically marks the beginning of maturation. At this point they are often capable of hunting on their own and are usually left alone by their mother.

Patrick was one of the many sprou--  er, hatchlings confused and-or scarred by a confusing event around the cave, one that the humans called an "Aprilfulls joke".  Or something like that; none of the dragons ever really understood that part.  A mere day after Patrick was hatched, a large silhouette of a different dragon approached, or so the hatchling claims.  The shadow knocked him on the head, insisted he was Patrick, and told him that he was no hatchling. "Not a hatchling!" cried Patrick, aghast.  

"No," the figure replied.  "You are  better.  You are a sprout."  

"Okay," chirped Patrick.

And for the sprout, that was that.

He's never questioned the tale, and dismisses any other theory.  He, thankfully, doesn't call adults "carrots", or eggs "seeds".  Even other hatchlings are just hatchlings to the Black youngling.

"I'm special," he boasts.  "I'm a sprout!"

And so he is.  (Everyone else just gave up a long time ago.)