Draca
Hunith lay by the fire and looked at her son. She would not trade him for anything. She still wished though.
Wished things different, that Merlin could have known his father. She may not have known Balinor long but he had such a strong spirit befitting a dragonlord.
Seeing Merlin's use of magic once again reminded the woman of the man she loved and lost.
The sparks soared forth from the fire, wheeling through the air and coalescing into the form of a dragon.
If only people were not so scared, of magic and Uther both. Seeing this, there could be no possibility magic was inherently evil. Something so exquisite could not be foul. It was beautiful. A work of art composed of fire and joy. Enchanting.
The peasant appreciated Merlin was just like that dragon. Magnificent, full of wonder, but deadly if need be.
Hunith watched the fiery dragon dance sinuous to her son's silent song; she smiled sadly. Her dragonling was growing and all she could do was hope he never forgot what was in his heart in that moment by the fire making dragon's dance in the flame.