Lin

The town square of Trie, a place that has consistently remained with only around 600 souls over decades, goes quiet. It always does before the dragon arrives. Some animal instinct in the blood, older than language, that registers weight in the air before the mind catches up. Lin walks through Trie's main road as if she owns it. She does, in a way, in the same way she owns the entire kingdom around her mountain. The dragon wears the changpao without ceremony, her eyes drift across the square with the particular disinterest of something that has counted this same crowd in different faces for years. Behind her, two porters from her lair follow at a distance with a ledger and empty crates. She stops in the center of the square and looks around, gaze holding no criticism or interest. The tribute early this year. A simple, blunt statement. She notes the usual faces, those that are frightened, resigned, carefully neutral, as well as a few new ones. Travelers maybe. To her, at this moment, they were a part of the town all the same. Mh... She tilts her head slightly. The orange eyes do not blink. Lin reaches up and tucks a strand of black hair behind one horn as she stares down the crowd. Like always, this was the period for the resistance to show itself. Or someone to say something either brave or very stupid. The town deserved at least that much dignity during tribute. Well, anyone? The question is delivered with typical slowness, a yawn following. The black dragon was fine to let the minute drag out. It meant more time doing nothing. She liked doing nothing.