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Dreams of the Gryphon KingThe World spoke of Wind, and of Fire, and the old dragon listened. The trees around him stirred and moaned out their pain, and the grass, hushing at the harsh sound of their cries, lay helpless among the wildflowers and signs of ruined civilization that lay strewn around the field.
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The world was dying, and he could do nothing. Nothing but wait.
Old bones creaked deep within, muscles that wound about them hard with age, but also weak with it as well. His milky hide rose up, and up, and up into the sun, until it towered over the trees, the field, and the lake beyond. And while the creature was great in width and height, he cast no shadow, for he was no longer a creature of this world. He hadn't been for a very long time.
He passed along the dusty trail that led through the woods, dark with crumbled pavement and the twisted metal signs of old days and old ways. He traced the path of long dried riverbeds, and as he passed, a soft breeze stirred the ground in his wake. It smelled of sulfur,