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. Yet
another was bought by a traveling peddler. All of the buyers
admired how skillfully the artist had, at once, captured both
the youthful innocence and the natural arrogance of the
dragon.
With each sale, Kyra became ever more proud of her
husband. His reputation as a painter was growing, yet
nothing really changed. They still lived in the same small
hut, their clothes were still second-hand rags skillfully
repaired by Kyra, and Seron still had to work at the inn to
supplement their income.
"You won't believe it!" exclaimed Seron in a rush of
words as he burst into their one-room home. "I was up on
Cold Rock Point," he explained, "and I saw the Highlord
atop her blue dragon. She was leading a whole phalanx of
soldiers riding their own dragons. The entire sky was filled
with them. Everywhere you looked there were dragons!
Their wings were flapping with a power that nearly blew
me off the cliff, and their great mouths were screaming in
cries that nearly deafened me. But the sight of it, Kyra! I've
got to paint it!"
For days, then weeks, he worked on the image he had
seen. It consumed him. He had to finish it before he forgot
how it looked, how it felt, what it meant.
Kyra watched him work
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