Aww... It’s a cute baby dragon. It seems to bear some semblance to a horse.

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.

It was a normal day. Cloff was out, paddling in the edges of the icy lake. Not even straying too far from the protective mothers that looked on from the cave entrance. Just a normal day. She was in plain sight, minutes away from anyone who could help her if trouble came. Yes, it was cold in midwinter, but it was only for a short time. And besides, she was surrounded by her fellow hatchmates, who could have easily have called a warning. But they didn't.

They were splashing about in the shallows of the lake. Nofio and Melys were there—nothing happened to them. And that Iris flower, floating on the lake just a little away. She was young; of course she went for the pretty thing. Leapt for it. Then the water was no longer shallow.

Deep. Cold. Cloff didn't have the vocabulary then to express how it felt. Down. Then the clench of a jaw on her neck, pulling her upwards. Then warmth, happiness, home. Then bad news. She was frozen, never to grow up. And Cloff relives that day constantly.