He emerges, as if from some long slumber. Emerges into the wet heat of his home as a dragon. How he delights in the way the soft earth shifts beneath his heavy feet. He feels more connected to it this way, when he can feel it between his toes. He wears some strange smile as he moves, his scaled mouth pressed into the grass.

And then, finally, he lifts his head and shifts seamlessly back into his body. It has taken much practice but it comes second nature to him now. Almost like breathing. And, finally, he feels real and whole and complete. These things belong to him, just as they belong to the earth. Just as he belongs to the earth.

He shakes his head and a flower tumbles out of his forelock, landing at his feet. He nudges this with his nose, too. But there is no saving it and he moves on without it, careful not to crush it underfoot as he goes.

He wonders after his twin but makes no effort to track her down. Nor does he seek out his mother or his father. He just looks this way and that as he moves through his home, waiting for something to catch his attention and hold it. Waiting for something interesting enough to hook him with intrigue.