Damn, is he hallucinating? This is impossible! He has read every book on them, heard every tale, knows the ancient lore by heart. He is one of the best informed experts on the subject you could possibly find on the entire continent. Many people might believe they do not exist at all outside of fairytales. However, he has seen several already. There are black, red, green and white ones. And, although even he thought it was a myth until he met one himself some years ago, he knows for certain that at least one golden one exists. But a blue one? Has anybody ever heard of a blue dragon? Still, as unbelievable as it is, the small blue dragon - or dragonling? - is sitting right in the middle of the sunny, lush green meadow between dandelions and daffodils, the deep aquamarine of its shimmering scales contrasting beautifully with the yellow of the spring flowers.
Suddenly something moves between the birch trees surrounding the meadow.
A gigantic golden dragon appears and sits down next to the small, blue one. Borch Three Jackdaws.
"Good to see you again, Geralt. Meet my daughter, Trellinvetenmerthah," he says with unconcealed pride. "You may call her Bluebell."