Ferroc rolls his eyes with a huff, but he seems to be relaxing a little, apparently now finding some humor in it rather than pure offence. "They're animals," he points out the obvious, "and they butter humans up for scraps."

That whole decreasing tension thing stops in its tracks the moment Ferroc spots the tiny dragon, though. He sort of freezes up, then slowly takes a step back. There's no way that was a dragon, right? Dragons were not this small. This had to be -- a wyvern, or some weird lizard, or a drake.

Calm down, he tells himself. Breathe. Small dragons could be good. Commander, the renowned hero, had raised one such creature from birth. And yet he can't help but feel wary, carefully watching it.

Then he realizes he's being talked to for a while, and shakes his head a little.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?"