To call the day she had had eventful would have been a dire understatement, but upon returning to the Glen, Gwyn had given Howell only an abbreviated version of events, with the promise of more detail once she'd had a chance to sort out her thoughts—proper mature of her, if she did say so herself, even if it was only a stalling tactic. After all, she had told the gruff head dragonkeeper she had something to show him, and she did not wish to play her hand so soon.

The creche was a little-used stone building with a greening copper roof and heavy iron door. Both were necessities, as barn-sized structure bore one purpose: housing young dragons in the event they could not be in the wilds—usually because they were injured or rejected by a parent. Fortunately for the Welsh Greens of the valley, it had been vacant for the better part of two years.

"Now," she prefaced as she stood outside the door, "it is important that you keep an... an open mind," Gwyn settled upon. The stubborn old bear was not one for whom open mindedness was considered instinct.