Twilight had come to the Plains of Warfang on that cold October day. The streets of the crowded town began to grow silent as the falling sun stretched shadows over everything. The merchants in the street began to serenely count their daily profit to close shop, and even the most important shopkeepers were preparing to place a "closed" sign on the display windows of their great stores. It seemed to them that no one would be asking for their services for the rest of that day; but as any clever shopkeeper knows, there are some who do, and those sad and desperate last minute shoppers are willing to spend a good goldsworth.

One of those sad and desperate shoppers was ironically none other than the carefully prepared and clockwork efficient she-dragon, Cynder. The master of careful planning comically ran from one shop to another to butt in and browse the store right before they closed the door on her. Some keepers were impatient, wanting to head home to their mates and children, as well as the warm supper that would be prepared for them. Other vendors, the slier bunch, one might say, welcomed her in, but would elevate the price of everything they sold tenfold. Even the black dragoness, endowed with good coin, was struck with awe at the boost in price.

"Fifteen gold coins!? But this bracelet only cost thirty silver in the afternoon!" she would say.

"Sorry," they would reply. "I own this shop, and I make the rules. You dragons can't control everything y'know."

But Cynder would have not hesitated to pay for these barbarically overpriced items, if only they were what she wanted. The young dragoness was looking for something of extraordinary value, and that something had to be worth more than anything in this world.

In fact, such had to be the extraordinary nature of this item that some jewelry-smiths, tired of having her present –and of course, I speak of the un-sly here-, would offer discounts on their most valued creations, but she would turn them down.

"If this isn't an anniversary gift," they would say, holding shining charms with precious jewels. "Then I don't know what is."

"Sorry… but I don't think it would suit him," Cynder would answer.

"Come on! It's the purple dragon," the keeper would respond "Dress him in gold, like the king he is!"

Many citizens of Warfang would see Spyro as one of two: A king, lover of power and wealth, or a savior, stuck in a state of untouchable sanctity while he didn't fight to save the world. Those who spoke of the purple dragon's relationship with Cynder –which were a tremendous number of people throughout the entire realm, had either one of two opinions: either they thought she wished to be his queen to regain the power she had as the beast she was before, or she was there to soil his divinity. Neither opinion favored the former Terror of the Skies, but that didn't surprise her.

Instead, she would be bothered by the false image they had of Spyro. If anything, he was a regular, warm hearted dragon with the desire to do well. The purple savior was anything but power-hungry. His simple background and kind nature pushed him away from it. He merely had to govern now and then because the citizens of Warfang would clamor for it. Cynder hated this the most about the people. Why ask for his help when they would only attack him right after?

"I'm really sorry," Cynder said to one jewel-smith. "It's not his type of gift."

"Wow, you're picky even for a dragon," the jewel smith answered. "Then again… you are…-." But before he could proceed to insult her, she was out the door.

But what was his type of gift? This, Cynder could not answer as she would go from jewel-smith, to seamstress, to perfumer. Her stops to find his mate the perfect anniversary gift would all end up in Cynder leaving the store empty handed, with an irritated shopkeeper –who clearly realized he wasted his time with her- closing his shop door a little too has as soon as she would leave. Not before long, the sun crept behind the city's stone walls, and closing time became official for nearly all stores.

So Cynder was left alone in the lamp-lit solitude of the shop avenue with her wool cloak to protect her from the cold. A chill-wind blew right into the alley, and caused Cynder to shake violently. She looked to the inns and pubs in the area, and saw the many happy faces of moles and felines enjoying warm brews and strong ales. She noticed a feline couple sitting in the outer tables of a dining hall. The waiters treated them with great care, bringing out hot tea and custards for the two to feast on. Oh how they laughed and embraced each other. What's more, the people around them were congratulating the two.

"Cheers!" one of the male feline's mole friends shouted, lifting his cup. "To this wonderful couple, that just recently became mates."

Cynder looked down. To have this kind of social interaction, or acceptance, was impossible for the two. Cynder, entering any establishment on her own, would cause enough friction as it was. Dining halls and pubs would go quiet with her presence. The older moles, veterans of the Old War, would stand up and leave from the establishment, followed by their friends and family. The manager would serve her himself, and the treatment would be poor.

With Spyro, little was different. The moles and felines of great age had forgotten what dragon couples were like, and the new ones found it foreign all together. Intrigue and massive suspicion would only make the matter worse. Here the two were: Hero and Enemy. Foe and Ally. Cynder had never really been accepted openly after the war, she was still, to the poor and ignorant –which were many, a disgrace. So how could their prophetic master turn on them like this? With Spyro, there would be more murmuring around them than anything. Even temple feasts harbored secret comments about them.

As one of the many companions of this couple turned and stared at Cynder in her green cloak in silence, she turned and walked away.

As she walked onward, she turned towards a road she knew all too well. A block away from where she stood there was a little bookstore. The store was owned by Omismark, a friendly mole that loved literature as much as Cynder did. The store was open from when the sun would rise, to when the first moon would sink, for he believed that all people had the right to read. He worked tirelessly with his printing press, forging as many copies of the greatest books known to the realm. He believed that he or she who read would elevate themselves from mundane ignorance. His view of the world is what drew Cynder to this mole. What surprised her more was the fact that he did not show any sign of fear or shock when he met her. He told her on that day that she was one black dragon of many, and that like the hero can fall into the dark grip of evil, so can the villain rise to be a saint.

The moment Cynder entered the book store, and rung the little charming bell by the door, Omismark raised his head to look at the dragoness with his massive, thick glasses. He squinted for a moment, as he had been reading a heavy text.

"Ahhh… Cynder!" he shouted in a gentle, elderly voice.

"Hello Omismark," Cynder replied in what seemed the happiest tone of voice she could create. As she entered the door, it closed, and the bell rung again. Cynder looked about, and noticed a few other moles, and one or two aged felines sitting on the old couches and around the tables of the establishment. They all appeared to be under the mystical charm of fiction, lost in a different world.

"Tell me, young dragoness," Omismark started, as he jumped down from his high chair. He vanished behind his large counter for a moment, and only began to speak again as soon as he appeared around it again. "What brings you about at this late hour?"

Cynder looked down to her side, and sat silently.

"The brutes outside this door didn't say anything to you, did they?" he shook his head. "For if they did, I have good reason to write a letter to the editor of The Warfang Reader." Cynder snickered, at this old mole´s refined humor. It always seemed to cheer her up.

"No, no, that's not it," Cynder answered.

"Shucks… If you want, you can make it up and I could still write my letter," he smiled in a mischievous as Cynder giggled some more and shook her head. "I kid, of course; lying is the worst of wrongs!" The elder moles laughed in a warm manner, as he pulled on his suspenders. They snapped back to place as he let go. "So tell me dear, what's your problem?"

"Well," Cynder began "I've just been having a hard time finding a good gift for someone close to me." The mole grinned again, more mischievously than before.

"Well, unless you're talking about me, or that little gnat companion of yours, I'm positive that it's a gift for Spyro." Cynder blushed as a smile emerged on her face.

"Well, yes." She shook her head. "You know me too well."

"Well, he who reads knows more and less every day. I, of course, don't get the latter." He snickered again, as he bent down and slapped his knee. Cynder made a crooked grin, and shook his head again. "I kid, of course!" He stood up in an elegant manner. "Tell me, dear. What's the occasion?" As he clasped his hands together, the dragoness' smile softened.

"It's our mateship anniversary," Cynder replied as she shifted herself on her haunches. The dragoness showed clear signs of excitement, as her smile got nervous and she began to tap her tail.

"Well, I'll be cursed," Omismark answered. He pointed to Cynder and chuckled as he noticed her tail tap. "And I can assume it's been a good year, considering the fact that I'll have to replace the floor after this conversation." Cynder looked back to her tail, and noticed that its sharp tip was carving the wood of the floorboards out.

"Oh!" she yelped as she stopped. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," he replied. "I need to have them changed anyway. Heavy book shelves and wood flooring dislike each other." The dragoness looked down and blushed with embarrassment. Omismark lifted his glasses on his face, and squinted. "So when is the anniversary?" Cynder frowned, as she looked up.

"Tomorrow, and I think every other store but yours is closed," she said worriedly. As Cynder pushed her eye ridged together, her old friend looked to the sky as to think. He remained this way for a moment, until he looked down and his face lit up.

"Well, I believe that perhaps a book here might solve your grand problem!" He turned as quickly as a rather elderly mole could, and walked into the depths of the shelves behind his counter. The books there were reserved only for special occasions, and Omismark would rarely give them away. The books in these shelves were either original copies, or one of his first replicas. The sentimental value for these books was great.

The mole vanished for a long time. At first Cynder waited patiently by the door where she was originally, but then a feline costumer walked in and Cynder had to move aside. As she waited, she was drawn to the books in the "New Releases" collection. Omismark was a master of retrieving original texts of ancient tales as well as new and versatile manuscripts by young authors. His surprising level of openness towards every type of book made his collection exquisite. What made it all the better is that he did not make replicas of books until he had read that book himself. If you asked, Omismark would give you a refined analysis of why the book was, or wasn't worth your time.

As Cynder began to browse through the "New and Versatile" he noticed that the mole had return, and was walking towards her.

"What do you say about Sons of Glory?" Cynder asked, as she picked a read.

"It's a compilation of many true Old War stories made into fiction," Omismark answered. "The premise is good, but the writing is a little sloppy."

"Oh," Cynder replied, as she put the book back down on the shelf. It was curious to think that whenever anyone referred to the "Old War" it meant a war in which Cynder herself was in. The great loss of lives was what gave it its name. Nearly a whole generation was destroyed, and all, Cynder thought momentarily, was in part thanks to her. Omismark looked up to her face, and noticed the sorrow she felt now. He put a hand on her, and gestured her to look to him.

"But forget about those old war tales, Cynder. They're poorly written anyway," he added, as he tried to draw her attention away from horrid thoughts with his playful humor. "Look at this." He presented the book he was holding in his hands with pride. Cynder looked down and read the title: Urban Love Songs: Lore of the Yonder Years as Told by our Ancestors. The dragoness was immediately interested, for of all the literature she liked to read, lore was her favorite. Its air of fantasy combined with idiosyncratic realism made it delicious, and mystical to read. She picked up the book, wishing to read it herself immediately. As she opened the cover, and saw the protective paper over the inner cover, she suddenly caught herself and realized that it was a book for Spyro. She crooked her head to the side, wondering how it suited the dragon in anyway whatsoever.

"Spyro… likes folk lore, but not as into it as me…" Cynder remarked, earning her a deep laugh from Omismark.

"Well, you've merely underestimated the power of this book," he replied. "Cynder, it's a guide." As Cynder looked to the mole with confusion, he smiled sweetly. "Turn to page thirty-four."

The dragoness turned the page, and as she read, Cynder suddenly understood what Omismark meant. She made a small smile as she continued to read.

"I compiled the songs myself, as well as the back story." The old more pulled on his suspenders again. "Perhaps a midday picnic might be the greatest gift there is…"

Cynder looked at him with her sustained smile, and before long she had taken the book. Omismark did not charge Cynder a single dime, for he said that all he wanted was to see the two happy.

"Send Spyro my most loving regards!" the elder mole said, as Cynder pranced off as quickly as she could; book in her cloak's pouch, and a brilliant plan in mind. Their anniversary would be perfect.