Better Than Windchimes

I knew as soon as she spilled the bits of metal on the ground that there was something interesting about her. Her mind is bright. Full of color. Full of art. I like that in a girl. Irelanth relays this to his dragon pals that night. Of course, she couldn't tell the difference between a snort and a sneeze, but she's just a girl. One must excuse her. If her lifemate is waiting on the sands for her, she'll be quick to learn, I'm sure. There's a pause as he considers something. She's too good just to make windchimes. Mine has asked her to make baubles for my Mags. Mags likes her baubles. The girl's name? Oh. Something human-sounding. Something red-orange.

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