My friend is a red dragon sitting atop its stone keep. The vibrant red of its leathery hide shines against the dull grey of ruptured concrete barriers. Once a majestic castle, full of life and spirit; now, abandoned and desolate, void of essence, -a dark pit in which one could easily fall into if caught unawares by its monstrous glory. Still, the kingly dragon loyally protects its throne, awaiting a genuine knight to prove his worth. Many a wars have been waged on this fortress, plundering into the unknown wanting only conquest, but receiving only defeat. They could only achieve a weakening of its defense, before being annihilated by the army concealed within the stronghold. Anyone who who looked upon the rare red dragon perched atop a desolate tower thought it only as an old forgotten beast, like a weary farm dog content to watch chickens run by instead of chasing them, still proudly protecting its forsaken keep, as if it was natural to guard something so barren. As weary and old as this creature is, a forest fire is merely but a candle flame to what feverish inferno it conjurs. One thousand years of trials and feats hardly reveal any exertion, its smooth scaley skin still glistening brilliantly in the setting sun, its wings extended so broadly catching the sorrows brought on by the wind, and protecting all those who seek shelter under the spellbinding care of this ancient dragon.