It’s an undead baby dragon, produced by a failed magical spell. It probably would be cute if it weren’t partially decayed.

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.

All Hallows' Eve had been fun for the hatchling. The candy, festival, and gossip of adventure were great and he loved everything. He had even seen his owner wandering around, too preoccupied to talk.

It became too dark to continue, and everyone had started to pack up. He had not come here with friends or family, but had come alone because he considered himself a big hatchling; he had to travel back home alone.

He began having doubts and was scared. The forest was much darker with no dragons around. He thought he was lost!

Suddenly, he saw a lone lantern, floating amidst the darkness. He hoped they could help.

He recognized them. The lady was his owner, and the Black Marrow was her friend. Maybe, on other nights, they would have helped him, but it was Halloween; time was limited.

He didn't even know what hit him, just that it hurt, and he didn't understand.

When he rose up soon after, all that he could remember and feel was pain.