Lyle sat cross-legged atop Dragon Ridge, finding the sensation of riding anything but pleasant. The scales of Alcalon were the hardest among his siblings, and when he got agitated, the scales would slightly curl up like sharp knives, making it seem as if Lyle was perched upon a mountain of blades that could tumble at any moment.
Entering Greatwood Forest, the shrill cries had never ceased, a symphony of life's piercing screams and the furious roars compact enough to compose a complete score. The dense canopy and sprawling undergrowth squeezed the already narrow field of vision further, feeling as if ravenous beasts were lurking around, surrounding the Black Dragon like a dining table.
After the twelfth deep breath, the oppressive atmosphere changed. The sounds around became more distant, though the high-hanging foliage was still like a dark, deep green gloom hovering overhead. Lyle's feelings did not improve, as the jungle falling silent was clearly not a good sign.
