Information

Sweaters
Legacy Name: Sweaters

The

Sweetheart Dragarth
Owner:

Faune

Age: 6 years, 6 months, 5 days

Born: October 28th, 2017

Adopted: 4 years, 3 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: January 22nd, 2020

Statistics

Level: 3
Strength: 21
Defense: 11
Speed: 7
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 1
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Stock Worker

minion

The dragon had lived there longer than any of the townsfolk could remember. In fact, that dragon had lived there amongst the mountain and valley and forest long before the small town came to be nestled in amongst the hemlocks and spruce. His was a somewhat lonely life, though he would fly far off at times to visit others of his species, dip his head under the water's surface (dragon's can hold their breaths for quite some time you know) and observe the fish in the lake, and ride thermals with the eagles and hawks. The larger animals tended to give him space. Understandable given his dietary needs. The exception was the raccoons. The small, curious critters (who could make an easy snack for the dragon) seemed willfully ignorant to the danger he posed. Once timid in their investigation, they had taken to hunting him down and bedding atop his warm body in the cooler months - pawing and poking his scales as they climbed up, chittering at one another over prime positions before sleeping soundly between spines and wings. They were an endearing kind, and he could never bring himself to eat one no matter how far from home he roamed. In fact, though he would take with respect and appreciation a meal of animal with some regularity, he was in truth an omnivore, a highly developed creature with a system that excelled at drawing nutrition from almost any source. And thus he dined more often than not on not his neighbors, but the bounty of natural resources around him. This didn't stop the humans of course, as they moved into his world, from passing to one another tales of sharp teeth, retched claws, and dripping fangs. Mind you, he did have a cousin (distant cousin that is) who could be the poster child for those tales. But most dragons actually preferred a simple life - resting, dining, and finding small joys in the day to day. It was only the truly desperate dragon who attempted to pluck a human from the herd. Most avoided them, knowing the stories of their clever weapons and fearsome wrath. This is why, of course, this dragon met his new neighbors with an abundance of caution. For the first few weeks he reoriented his flight paths around the rising town, save the odd day where the fog or heavy clouds gave him ample cover. He perched on high mountain outcrops, his excellent eyesight more than powerful enough to allow him to observe this new species as it hammered and dug, lassoed and thatched. They seemed alright enough, staying close to their smartly constructed dens and barriered plots of land.

They spent most of their days within the loose border of their town, talking to one another, planting and harvesting, tending to the animals they had led up and herded into their fences. They built barrels to collect rain and sewed clothing. With fire smartly constructed and contained they sent delicious smells wafting towards him and found ways to bring small orbs of light into the town even after dark. They did not seem to come looking for him, and they showed no appetite for violence. So one night, after the first few weeks of their settling, he crept down the mountainside and through the trees until he was as close to the forest edge as he dared go. He climbed up into a batch of trees that grew close together, strong enough to hold his weight, and nestled in amongst the braches, tail wrapped around the trunk with tip swishing nervously. It was quiet, save the occasional bleat of the goats or soft voice sending a melody through a window and into the dark night. A few folks milled about with their orbs of light, speaking in soft voices before retiring to their humble homes. The houses went dark, one or two at at time, until the only light was that of the moon and stars glowing down upon the sleepy town. It was then that he heard the rustling, the familiar chitters and sure enough, along came the raccoons. Clever and bold, they marched through the grasses with purpose, intent upon the town. The dragon hissed with alarm, they were so much smaller than these creatures, what were they thinking. Yet the raccoons ignored him and he watched as they began to climb atop small barrels, quick hands working over edges until they had pried lids open and attained the treasure hidden within. Others strolled the streets with fearless swagger, reaching up to windowsills and poking at doors to see what goodies they may find. The dragon hissed again under his breath. He could not see some of the raccoons as they wove in and out of the streets. Despite the common living arrangement of his species, these were his friends and he knew in his heart he would be heavy laden with sadness and guilt should he sit back and allow something to happen to them. And so, cursing those stupid fluffy little pests under his breath, he slid down the tree and slunk across the grasses of the hillside, his belly and wings so low they skimmed the ground. His eyes darted this way and that, his nose ceaseless as he kept vigilant for danger. He reached the first house and held his breath, expecting someone to jump out at him at any moment. But no one did. The night remained quiet. The houses remained dark. The raccoons remained bold and unbothered. And the dragon began to slowly release the tension, loosening his body and standing straighter, head poking around corners with a budding curiosity. He began to walk carefully behind the first loose row of homes until he came to two of his raccoon friends who were perched on the rim of a barrel, chittering intermittently and tossing various items over their heads until they found something snackable. As the dragon poked his nose closer he was suddenly blinded, his vision gone. He reared in panic and swiped his paws before him in a frenzy, falling backwards onto his rump at the same time his nail caught the sleeve of the soft knit sweater and pulled it from his eyes, revealing he was in fact not blind, he had simply been the victim of the wild flinging of the goal-oriented raccoons. He held the soft sweater, letting it dangle from his nail as he gave it a caustious sniff. It smelled of sweat and honey, with hints of sheep and goat and trees and clove. He carefully rubbed his nose against the mysterioyus item then, and found it to be a wonder - soft and yet scratchy, warm and thick. He beheld the item then, seeing it with new perspective not as an agent of attack but as a prize. Looking left and right for witness or danger, he clutched the item to his chest and marched back the way he had come.

And so became his custom. Waking from his late afternoon nap with a large stretch, elongating his neck and flexing his wings before shaking off the last hint of sleep, then meandering down the mountain side, keeping keen eye on the village below to track the evening activities and settling of its inhabitants. He would lift himself into a tree and await his raccoon companions, eyes adjusting to the increasing darkness as the last orbs of light disappeared from the homes. With increasing boldness night after night he would trot down the hill and slip amongst the houses. At first he would sniff out a hanging cardigan left on a porch seat or a sweater forgotten on a drying line, but when the townspeople began to note the odd habit of their outer wear to disappear, the magical goodies ceased being so easy to find. He tried to resign himself to that being the end of things. To his delight, a few evenings after this he caught a rotund fluffy bum and a poofy striped tail disappearing over a windowsill through a window that had been left cracked for the cool evening air to slip through. At first he hissed his alarm, these dang creatures had no self-preservation skills, and darted to the window to try and catch the rascal before it got itself into real trouble. Sneaking amongst the homes was one thing, but in them? Unbelievable. The bright eyed trouble maker had crossed the wooden floor and scaled the square table sitting center, his paws exploring a forgotten plate of fruits and bread before delightedly stuffing his face with everything he could find. Despite the objections of the dragon, the racoon had no interest in exiting anytime soon. And so, to his own surprise, the dragon stuck his neck through and began to peer around anxiously. When no human can running, he caustiously placed one clawed paw, then another on the window frame and eased his large body through, barely making it. He had intended to simply grab the raccoon and retreat, but on his irriated way to the pest his eyes caught sight of a belioved treasure too good to ignore. This sweater was large and soft, intricate colorful patterns woven into a beautiful design that seemed to glimmer in the starlight. Forgetting the raccoon entierly, he turned and cleared the space in two paces, laying his large head against the sweater before rubbing his chin and nose across it. He snatched it up in his mouth carefully, remembered where he was, took a sudden glance around the room in fear he had been caught, made for the window, remembered the raccoon, grabbed it in one paw, and squeexed himself back through the window, the fat fluffy cause of this all happily clinging to the remnants of its meal.

Almost gets caught and accidentally snags a sweater on plants, leaving evidence.
People follow and discover
Flees in terror
Returns and finds they have knitted him his own giant sweater
Befriends the people

Profile by

Lea
Art by