It is one thing to meet a dragon ...

[Philomel]

She could not remember how long ago precisely it was. The world was caught up in a fluid motion of events, battles and lovers. A very long time ago she had bought a black dragon hatchling at an auction, and told he had been in training to be a rider's mount. Philomel had kept the creature, had him stowed away for most of her assassin career in the basement of a good friend, a Mister Draak of the Firehall all-god church in the backwaters of Radasanth. As she and Veridian had been running around killing and beginning to establish the Gilded Lily, Delath had been burping little more than steam. He had been a winged, fireless beast then, nothing more than a baby with the similar mind and instincts.

Then he had grown, in a day changing colour, size and purpose. He had gone from this tiny, five foot long thing to a beast, capable of eating and digesting rock. His scales had become smooth and like skin, but in a way that the earth glided off him. His wings were lost, as was his ability to burp tiny flames ever again, and instead he forged a mental attachment to Philomel, and breathed spores that caused horrific necrosis and rash. Digging became his trait, earth his element and he was changed in a single few moments.

A dragon to rock, dedicated to Drys.

This change had been more subtle, however. Apart from the ten feet of length that he had recently gained, Delath's outward abilities had not changed. Instead, however, his mind had altered. Now he was a talking, inquisitive being, not a beast.

Revealing things like - he considered Philomel his mother, and Drys his grandmother apparently.

"So Drys changed you?" she wondered outloud. "Your breath as well has become less dangerous, simplified ... Is that purposeful?"

Hmmm, the deep voice rumbled. I know not what. Nettles?

Philomel found herself nodding. "Yes, it is like nettles. Stings."

Nettles, he agreed.