Hanijare

Hanijare is a small, lively Levari dragon, and when he first meets someone he holds himself quietly, a little hesitant, tucked low and watching from the edge of things. That hesitation is gentle and it never lasts long. The moment someone takes an interest in him and in who he is, he lights up with open, unguarded delight, as though he has been waiting all along to be asked. From then on he is bright and quick, warm and affectionate, and a streak of mischief runs all through him, glinting like a flame catching on dry kindling.

He sits around the middle of the Levari range, about the size of a medium dog, and he is built especially squat and low even for his breed. His four legs splay a little to the sides, holding his body close to the ground in a long, easy curve, and that low frame is light and nimble from end to end. He seems ready at every moment to dart in any direction, and the smallest spark of interest is enough to set him moving.

His scales are larger along his back and grow finer across his belly. Each one is smooth beneath the hand, its edges raised just slightly, so that a touch drawn along him meets a faint, even ridging, like running a palm over the ripples left in sand. They have a soft matte finish that drinks in the light, and they are always warm, carrying the heat of the fire he holds inside him, the way a stone keeps the sun long after evening has come.

Their colour is a deep, dark green, richest along his back and lightening gradually toward his belly, and a warm, golden undertone runs all through it, like sunlight glimpsed through thick summer leaves. In shadow that green deepens until it is almost black, and in a dim corner the silver of his eyes is the brightest thing about him.

Several rows of short, neat spines run the length of his back and down along his tail. They are a dusky purple, matching the colour of his wings, a quiet line of colour against the green, and when he raises their tips, the points come up green, the same deep, golden-touched green as his scales, as though the colour of him rises to meet the edge.

His wings are a dusky purple, the colour of the sky in the last few minutes before night, even across their spread and deepening toward their edges. Whenever the light catches them they shimmer softly, the colour moving across them like a ripple. They are neat and in proportion to his body, set high and close along his spine just behind his head, so that from the front his head half hides them and they rise behind him like a folded secret.

His head is long and especially fine, a narrow, almost fox-like muzzle shaped on a plainly draconic jaw, and it gives his face a delicate, inquisitive look. His horns are short and swept back, caramel-coloured, the warm shade of toffee standing out against the green. His ears are long and fin-like, green like the rest of him, and they are almost never still: they flick and fold, lift and settle, following every sound and every passing thought, and with them half of what he feels is written plainly on his head.

His three eyes sit in an even row above his snout, each one a bright, polished silver, gleaming like new coins, with slit pupils that narrow and widen as he looks about. The central eye sees what others cannot: magic. Every kind of magic shows to it as a colour of its own, and the strength of it shows as brightness, from the faintest glimmer to a blaze. He has spent a long time learning to read those colours, and now he reads them fluently. Through that eye he sees the magic people carry within them, the enchantments and wards laid over objects, and the traces magic leaves hanging in the air wherever it has been used, all of it laid over the world in colour, including the magic that no ordinary eye could ever see.

His tail is slender and whip-like, about as long as his body or a little longer, and it is wonderfully expressive. It flicks, sways and curls with his moods, and he wraps it around things he wants to keep near, and around the people he is fond of, holding on with a light, warm loop.

His feet are broad and made for gripping, tipped with silver claws that match his eyes, and he climbs with ease, finding a hold on almost any surface he sets his feet to.

He carries fire as his element, and he breathes it. The fire lives in him all the time, a steady warmth radiating from his whole body, so that he is always warm to curl up against. When he feels something strongly, thin threads of smoke curl from him, rising and drifting away. For finer, more careful fire work he turns to his tail, shaping and guiding the flame with it in ways his breath cannot.

His feelings show all over him, from the tips of his ears to the end of his tail. His ears flick and fold, his tail sways and curls, and his eyes brighten, soften and narrow. Warmth rises off him in waves, and his scales flush and shift in tone as his feelings move through him. When he is shy he goes low and tucked, drawing himself in small and close, and when he is playful he is up and bouncing, all eager energy. And when he is angry, the tips of his spines rise along his back.

He moves in quick, darting bursts, scurrying low to the ground and changing direction in an instant. When he plays he pounces, wriggling and gathering himself before he springs. He climbs and perches wherever he can find a hold, and when shyness gets the better of him he hides behind things or curls up inside them, peeking out with a silver eye until he feels ready to come out again. In the air he is easy and sure, and he takes to it as readily as he takes to the ground.

The atmosphere around Hanijare begins gentle and a little tentative, soft as a held breath, and soon it turns warm and close, light and full of mischief, and openly affectionate, and the warmth of him seems to settle into whatever space he shares.

He smells of woodsmoke, of green moss, and of something warm and spiced beneath them both.

Hanijare is a small flame coaxed patiently into a bright fire, a lizard sunning itself on a warm rock, and a spark glowing in the dark. He is a bashful smile, the moment just before it widens into a grin, and all the play that comes after it.