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The river sweeps across the canvas in a twisting, winding path of sparking cerulean. Tiny shadows dot the water, marking the little fish that swim under the surface all along its length. A few strokes of a brush adds the finishing touches to the forest on the mountainside, the maple leaves glowing a vibrant red in the crisp autumn day. The sky is dotted with pleasant white clouds, rays of bright yellow sunlight shining past them and onto the scene below.

Isaiah pulls back, examining his work carefully. The little red dragon perched on his shoulder stares transfixed at the painting, his mouth agape. After adding a few more finishing touches, Isaiah puts his brush aside and stretches, ruffling his ebon feathers. The miniature dragon sways to keep his balance on his shoulder perch, staring at the painting for a moment before looking at Isaiah with awe and admiration.

"Master Izzy's paintings are so pretty."

Isaiah sighs at the little dragon, raising up a hand to lightly stroke his scaly head. "How many times do I have to ask you not to call me Izzy, Ezekiel?"

The dragon coos and his eyes whirl with pleasure at the touch. After a moment, he regains his composure and with a flap of his wings hops off Isaiah's shoulder, landing lightly on the floor and letting out a cute, indignant huff.

"Master Izzy keeps calling Zeke 'Ezekiel' too." He sticks out his tongue.

"You're a troublesome little dragon, you know that?" Despite his words Isaiah smiles warmly, and he reaches down to scoop the little red dragon into his arms. The mischievous lizard makes a show of struggling, but he is soon smiling and purring, his eyes squeezed shut as Isaiah snuggles him close for a moment.

Plopping Zeke back onto the floor, Isaiah takes the finished painting and puts it at the edge of the room, setting it among a handful of other finished paintings, all containing landscapes of various kinds and colors. Bright and cheerful fields covered with a carpet of vibrant springtime flowers. A sharp, contrasting palette of a winter mountainside, the canvas spotted in black and white from the snow-covered mountainside. A painting of a gloomy, overcast day, the muted light giving the entire picture a stony gray look. All windows into another world, so rich and detailed that it feels as if you could step right into them.

Zeke pads over to where these finished, unframed paintings lie. "Master's paintings are... sooo pretty. Why has Master never painted Zeke?" His curious eyes peer upwards at Isaiah.

Isaiah just chuckles a little, and responds in a light matter-of-fact tone, "Ezekiel, you know I can only draw landscapes. I'm not so good at drawing silly little dragons."

Zeke appears to take umbrage at this, bumping his rump against Isaiah's leg and letting out a tiny, low pitched growl. "Master Izzy should learn to paint majestic, strong dragons, like me."

Isaiah reaches down and rubs Zeke's head, ruffling the lizard's little ears and horns and tugging at the small spike on his snout. Zeke chirps and nips at him playfully.

"Maybe one day."

Stepping out of the painting room, Isaiah walks into the halls of his home. A network of richly decorated corridors connect the various rooms and laboratories that make up the large, empty mansion that Isaiah has found himself in ownership of. It had once been the location of a small sect of magus, having been used for magical research and experiments, among other things, but over time the group began to dissolve, its members moving on towards their own ends. The deed to the mansion passed through many hands, both magically talented and mundane, before finally being given to Isaiah from a distant relative: his great-uncle Hevard. Though Isaiah rarely spoke to him, Hevard at least knew that Isaiah was a magus himself and might at least get some use out of it and the facilities it has. It didn't improve their distant relationship, unfortunately, and Hevard couldn't have known how little Isaiah practices magic.

While truly thankful for the generosity of his great-uncle, Isaiah spends most of his time painting or tending the garden, using the laboratories only in rare whims of curiosity. The golems that once assisted with research and guarded the house from rival magus are now simple housekeepers, silently tidying up after Isaiah and Zeke and keeping the place looking unnaturally spotless. Truth be told, Isaiah thought, this place is a little too big and lonely for just me and Ezekiel.

Passing underneath a small stone arch, Isaiah walks into the small but well-tended garden courtyard that sits in the middle of the mansion. The ceiling opens up into a cloudless sky. The sun, hanging low in the late hour of the day, is obscured behind the high walls of the house, though its light still shines its warm orange glow through the air.

Kneeling down, Isaiah examines a set of tulips that have begun to bloom.

"Hmm..." Isaiah gently turns one around, his feathery hand brushing against the petals. He leans in and inhales the flowery scent, exhaling with satisfaction. "Ahh, lovely."

Zeke clatters along, his little claws tapping against the stone walkway. Snout twitching, he leans in and cautiously sniffs the same flower, but then suddenly flinches away with a sputter, struggling to hold in a sneeze. Isaiah pays him no mind, walking between the tulips, daisies, roses, and carnations all arrayed along the walkway. He examines some, touches up a few, and takes a sniff of each one before moving on to the next.

"Spring is always so nice. All these lovely flowers." Isaiah muses.

"Flowers are pretty," Zeke says, sounding a little stuffed up among all these flowers, "but they make Zeke's nose itchy."

Isaiah lets out a gentle laugh, "I'm sorry, Ezekiel, I won't be long now." He examines a few more roses, taking care not to prick himself on the thorns. "Though... I've never heard of a strong, majestic dragon being allergic to flowers."

Zeke flaps his wings a few times, kicking up a gust of wind that unsettles the dust and dirt of the garden. He shakes his head around and lets out a short chuff, but says nothing.

Standing up straight, Isaiah stretches once more, opening his beak in a long, weary yawn. Zeke patters over to him and looks up with his bright curious eyes.

"Is Master going to see Sorel soon?"

Isaiah nods, "Yes, we should get going, it's nearly dinner time. Are you hungry?"

"Yep!"

With another flap of his wings, Zeke hops up onto Isaiah's shoulder, perching there with his claws held tight to Isaiah's clothes. The pseudodragon looks a little too big for that, but his body and wings, for as much space as they take up, are rather slender and sinuous. His limbs are perhaps a bit too short for his body, but it wouldn't be a good idea to tell him that unless you want to get nipped at, Isaiah thinks to himself with a grin_._ He doesn't have too much trouble with the extra weight on his shoulder, having long gotten used to it.

The streets of Rhunis are narrow and cramped, full of overhanging passageways and tall, imposing buildings surrounding quiet secluded parks and vibrant gardens. Everything is decorated with ornate arches, long fences with ivy stretched over them like thick verdant webs, and gently bubbling fountains of sparkling water that serve to give the tightly-packed mountain city a cozy, pleasant air. Every gentle, rustling breeze brings with it the scent of flowers.

Isaiah takes a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the drifting smell of lilacs. Exiting the secluded exterior of his manse, he steps out onto the street and begins to walk along the cobbles, exchanging quick greetings with the neighbours and acquaintances that he comes across. Some of them give Zeke a pat on the head or even a treat - a morsel of food or a piece of candy - something that the little dragon heartily approves of. Treading down the winding, enclosed road, the buildings transform from apartments, houses, and concealed mansions into storefronts, shop counters and stalls, most of which are currently empty.

Picking his way through the streets, passing the few remaining shopkeepers that are beginning to pack up for the day, Isaiah finds his way into a narrow alley. The buildings on either side press in on the crow and his pet dragon, leaving barely enough room for two people to walk abreast, but fortunately the pair is alone in this quiet alcove of the city. Following the claustrophobic path, they come to a door, shining wood stuck through with bands of gold. A window is set into the door, the glass misty and opaque, offering no view of the inside. With his little dragon perched on his shoulder, reptilian tail wagging slowly, Isaiah reaches forward and knocks on the door.

After a moment, the window on the door suddenly turns clear. A large, imposing pangolin peers at them through the glass for a moment before the window clouds over again. There is the sound of a lock clicking, and the door swings open. Standing there and nearly filling the door frame stands the pangolin... stark naked.

"Hello Enkidu." Isaiah says with a short bow.

Enkidu gives Isaiah a polite, friendly nod, his long, tapered snout easily wearing a smile. Large, armor-like scales cover his entire back, covering the top of his head like a helmet and stretching all the way to the tip of his long, thick tail. Each wide, sharp scale is in natural symmetry with the others, looking as if it were instead a masterfully designed coat worn over the shoulders. On his front, instead of hard scales, is rough, dark brown skin covered with an almost invisible layer of very fine hair. Sprouting from the tips of the pangolin's meaty fingers are long, wicked claws, currently curled tightly inward against the palms of his hands. Isaiah averts his eyes from between the pangolin's exposed legs, but can't help but glance a big pair of dangling orbs underneath a wide stub of a sheath the size of his wrist.

I do wish he would find clothes he could wear... it's inconvenient not being able to look below waist-level.

Zeke pipes up as they enter the house. "Hi Enki!" The pseudodragondoes not share Isaiah's shyness towards the pangolin's exposed parts, likely because, in his words: 'He has no clothes, just like me!'

Despite being tucked far inside a cramped alley, a pair of huge, bright windows dominate the entry foyer of the house, peering out over a quiet avenue of the city evening. The room itself is decorated with all sorts of items and curiosities. Glass and ceramic vases sit next to hand-carved statues on all the shelves and surfaces around, real and replica blades and weapons are hung from the walls, accompanied by a select few paintings, one of which Isaiah recognizes as his own work. The marble floor gleams with polish while a vivid red carpet bordered with curving golden designs paves the way into the rest of the building.

Gesturing the pair of guests along, Enkidu leads them through the foyer and down a wide hall. Small square tables dot the corridor, each with a piece on display. Isaiah isn't certain of the significance of each piece of art, carved statue, glittering gem, or colorful painting alike, but he assumes that everything is precious and valuable to the owner, Sorel. Having sold some of his paintings to the fox in the past, he isn't terribly surprised to spot them every so often along the walls of his home, but it's still flattering to see.

The hallway opens up into a more modest and cozy living space, with a broad window giving a pleasant view of the setting sun. Rays of warm, fading sunlight stream into the room, streaking everything with hues of orange and red. In the center of a room sits a fox comfortably behind a polished wooden table, his fur a mix of pure white and soft black with misty shades of gray where the two colors mix. His rustic brown eyes are rimmed with black fur sweeping out and upwards onto the top of his head like an elaborate mask. The fox's features are sharp and wiry, his every movement gentle and graceful, yet full of a subtle energy. The only thing that might take away from his vulpine beauty is a messy patch of black on the end of his muzzle; a dirty smudge of both fur and skin that gives an unfortunate edge of scruffiness to his face.

Upon seeing his guests, Sorel stands and gives a welcoming gesture, smiling widely.

"It is good to see you, Isaiah. And you too, Zeke." His voice is as svelte and soft as his fur, quiet but clear. "I had begun to wonder if you lost track of time." He turns to Enkidu, "Thank you, Enkidu, I think we are ready for supper now."

Nodding, the large, naked pangolin strides out of the room. Sorel sits back down and gestures Isaiah to do the same.

With a leathery flapping of his wings, Zeke leaps off of Isaiah's shoulder and lands on Sorel's, albeit a little awkwardly. Sorel just lets out a short chuckle in response.

"Hi Sorel!" The little dragon rubs against the furry cheek of the fox, and gets a gentle petting in return. With a knowing grin, Sorel slips his fingers into a pocket and procures a little treat, waving it in front of Zeke. The dragon nips at his fingers gently, huffing and sniffing before gingerly taking it from Sorel's hand. Once in his mouth, Zeke devours the morsel, purring loudly and happily, "Mmm!"

"Alright, little lizard. My shoulder is a little too small for such a big dragon like yourself."

Zeke glances down, as if he forgot how big he was. Nodding solemnly, he flaps over to the top of a nearby chair and plops down, wrapping his wings around himself and looking content.

Isaiah looks over at Zeke, "He is getting bigger, isn't he?"

Sorel nods, "Like he's growing."

If that were true... Isaiah thinks, Familiars don't grow on their own. They can adjust their size to suit their or their master's needs using the latent magic within them. They don't grow naturally. But Ezekiel...

Sorel is aware of Isaiah's botched attempt to call a familiar. The spell had malfunctioned while bringing Ezekiel into creation. The dragon seems to be lacking in magical attunement, and hasn't shown any latent powers, but is otherwise perfectly healthy. Pseudodragons are not a naturally occurring kind of dragon. They are purely creations of magic, made to be familiars and servants. Is it possible...?

Enkidu stomps into the room, holding a silvery tray of food and dishes. Smiling and bowing politely, he sets a dish down in front of Isaiah, and then one for Sorel. A delicious serving of freshly cooked bread sits sliced and steaming on Isaiah's plate, buried by a selection of berries and fruits and nuts. A sizzling haunch of meat lies on Sorel's own plate, covered in a shimmering sauce and a generous amount of seasoning.

Stepping over to the chair Zeke is lounging on, Enkidu places down a plate stacked with thick strips of meat. Zeke hops up in excitement and immediately begins chowing down, brightly thanking Enkidu with a mouthful of food before the pangolin bows and leaves the room.

The food is delectable. All of it is fresh and made with delicate care; the bread is fluffy and rich, and the fruits and berries are bursting with flavor. Everything is picked and placed with care, every taste compliments each other nicely. Isaiah can't help but express his appreciation.

"Enkidu is really a fantastic cook." He says between bites.

"Mmm." Sorel says, swallowing and nodding. "I'm fortunate to have him."

"How come my servant doesn't cook like this?" Isaiah gives a sideways glance at Zeke.

Zeke growls in indignation, sounding amusingly high-pitched, his mouth still stuffed with food. He tries to protest with eyes wide, "'M too 'mall! 'Idu's BIG!"

Isaiah has to stifle a little amusement, while Sorel grins at them both while keeping his eyes on his meal.

Everything is eaten in a matter of minutes. Enkidu emerges again after some time to clean up the dishes, bringing with him a pot of hot water along with a pair of cups and a handful of what looks like tea leaves. Sorel takes both cups and quickly begins making tea for both him and his avian guest. Isaiah watches on, as he has done every time he shares a dinner and a drink with Sorel.

"Why don't you ever get Enkidu to make our tea?"

Sorel shakes his head a little, "He can cook, but he can't make tea." The fox shifts a little in his seat as the tea finishes steeping, sprinkling in a little sugar and adding a dollop of honey. He knows how to make it just the way Isaiah likes it. "Besides, I enjoy making it for us." Finishing up, he passes a steaming cup, rich with a sweet aroma, to his guest.

They make light conversation as they enjoy their drinks, with Zeke lazily flopped on his back, dozing on his chair with limbs splayed all around. The burning red light of the sun darkens with every passing moment, but just before the room would have sunk into darkness, Enkidu comes, candle in hand, to light the lamps set about the room before leaving the candle in a socket at the center of the table. The smell rising from the dark purple wax is light and pleasant, and the room is now bathed in fiery, flickering light.

Sorel talks about his recent collections, how he's finally finished a set of coins that he has been seeking for months, how he found a slightly rare Le'tou carving for a bargain at the market, and about the next painting that he is going to purchase from Isaiah.

"I know how much time you spend on your art." Sorel stands and stretches, letting out a big yawn from his slim, toothy maw. "I'll have to come by and take a look at your newer pieces. If that's acceptable?"

Isaiah sets down his empty cup, the scent of it still wafting around his head. "O-of course."

It's never been easy to have anyone look over his art, even Sorel. Especially when they're looking to buy any of them. He paints on a whim, from the heart, drawing from whatever inspiration strikes him at the time. To have strangers look over what he draws, it feels like he's exposing and selling a vulnerable side of himself. If it weren't for Sorel being so persistent, Isaiah would likely have never sold any of his paintings; they'd have stayed on their canvases and been tucked away in the rooms of his manse forever. It's no coincidence that the fox has been his main customer.

"Tomorrow then?"

---

Lanterns hang from the buildings, motionless in their solid metal cages as they soak the path with gentle, flickering light. Along the road there is the occasional metal lamppost, towering high and shedding its light alongside its swinging brethren. Isaiah walks along, his sleepy pet dragon draped on his shoulders, and before long the quiet light of the city is behind him as he enters his home.

A golem, standing guard over the door in an inconspicuous part of the entry foyer, springs to life as Isaiah walks in. Tiny, glowing veins streak through its body like elegant wires through a machine, energizing it while it silently and smoothly moves about to light a series of candles to brighten up the room. Isaiah steps into the hallway, taking little notice of the golem. The lamps there are tended by another golem, who follows along, taking care to stay out of the way as it lights up the living room that Isaiah steps into.

Shrugging the little dragon off his shoulder and onto a fluffy cushion, he hesitantly enters his painting room, looking over his finished and unfinished paintings and wondering which one Sorel might want.

I think I did okay on this one..._he thinks as he approaches thecanvas with thewintry landscape spread across it. _Or maybe the one I finished today...

He rubs his beak with a feathered hand, all too anxious about letting go of any of his drawings. I still don't know what he sees in them. They're... they're not bad, I guess... but there's lots of artists in Rhunis, he could get better art for less money if he wanted. He pays me too well for these. What makes mine so special?

He scuffs the ground with a talon and begins pacing the room, thinking. It can't be that he pities me or anything. He hangs them in his house. He... he must just like them, is all.

Back and forth he paces, his inner thoughts working tirelessly to convince himself of one thing or another. That his paintings are good, that Sorel's intentions are pure, that it's worth selling his art even just to put it out there, to expose it for others to enjoy in whatever way they wish.

Do all painters feel like this? I put a lot of effort into what I draw... it's silly to doubt myself. Isn't it?

The golems trudge around the house, checking the candles and lamps strewn about the rooms and halls. Every so often one will pass the room, its thumping footsteps rising to a peak volume before sinking away. Though their feet are softened - both to preserve the floors and to minimize noise - their steps can still be felt due to their heavy weight. Ordinary stone, one of the few common materials strong and dense enough to hold an enchantment for the many, many decades that golems serve, can't be made light in the process, no matter the strength of the magic used.

However, the next steps that Isaiah hears are not the thumps of his golem servants, but the soft clicking of dragon claws. Zeke enters the room, still sleepy, but wearing a drowsy look of confusion and concern.

"M-master Izzy~" The pseudodragon whines.

Isaiah wheels around, pulled out of his thoughts. "Ezekiel? What is it?"

"I feel... weird."

At that moment, Isaiah's eyes are drawn down, pulled by the odd glimpse of something hanging below the little dragon. An icy talon of disbelief closes around his chest at the sight.

Oh dear... it couldn't be!

Emerging between the dragon's hind legs, stretching up to his belly and drooping down, is a shaft of glistening purple flesh, struck through with a lattice of dark red veins. It's rather thick and long for his size, and every so often a little bit of murky fluid oozes out to leave a little puddle on the floor. If he were a full-sized dragon, it would be very impressive indeed, but as Isaiah sees it, it looks hardly any bigger than his own particular... endowment.

Isaiah wrings his feathers a little. "Oh... gosh. What am I going to do with you, Ezekiel?" He watches as Zeke leans his head down and laps at the tip of his hanging member before twisting upwards with a grimace and a groan.

"M-master... it feels so strange, w-what do I do?"

This can't be... pseudodragon familiars don't... they don't have those parts! Is he... is he just a regular dragon? Has he been all this time? What should I do?

Zeke plops onto his side, giving a much clearer view of between his legs. The slick shaft now bumping against the ground emerges from a slit Isaiah somehow never saw before, the sensitive opening straining against the new, engorged organ. The area around it glows hot and red with intense arousal, coloring the dragon's yellow underscales a dark, rosy hue.

Zeke whines again, twisting against the floor, his turgid dragonhood leaving a faint trail of fluid with every motion. His eyes are clouded, confused and overpowered by the odd and unfamiliar sensations.

Isaiah clenches his feathered hands, shaking his head. I think... I have to give him a... hand.

Crouching down, Isaiah stretches out an arm towards Zeke, watching carefully as the dragon gives him a pleading look. Hesitating at the last moment, he takes a breath, and then brushes his hand against the exposed flesh. Zeke visibly tenses up, his own breath catching in his little throat as the feathery hand touches his most sensitive place.

One digit at a time, Isaiah wraps his fingers around the shaft. It's so hard, and warm. Raising up another hand, he grips the little dragon of the little dragon in both hands, giving it a squeeze.

"Nnnffh!" Zeke stifles a sound and squirms around, his tail lashing out wildly.

"Shh, stay still." Isaiah whispers, his fingers holding tight to the moist flesh. Slowly, but with purpose, he slides his hands the few inches down to the base of the shaft, pressing up against the tender slit for but a moment before giving one long, careful stroke all the way to the twitching tip.

"Aaa- hah, hah!" Zeke's diminutive body is rocked by sharp, invisible shocks of sensation and he begins to pant rapidly. A healthy dollop of precum oozes out of the tip of his swollen member, leaking down and soaking Isaiah's feathers.

It won't be long.

Wet, slippery feathers descend again to the base of the veiny purple shaft, the flesh rippling around them, causing the dragon to thrash again from the pleasure. Another stroke up to the tip, back down, and up again, and it seems Zeke can take no more.

"M-maaaasterrrrr...! Aaah!" Zeke's back arches up, his little belly rising and falling rapidly with his breath. A splash of white paints itself across his snout, thick and slimy. Isaiah holds firm onto the pulsing flesh in his hands, milking the orgasm out to the best of his ability. Another string of white flies over Zeke's head, splattering across the floor, followed by another, and another.

"Aaaaahh-" Zeke squeaks and gasps, his body shaking and quivering, his claws scraping the ground.

Fluid continues to erupt from the cock held firmly in Isaiah's hands; each powerful twitch is another milky white rope that shoots out and onto the floor above Zeke's head. Isaiah sits transfixed, squeezing, easing out the orgasm one squirt at a time. I can feel every pulse, every drop that comes out.

Although it feels like an eternity to the both of them, it only takes a moment for things to wind down. For such a little dragon, there was a lot of cum, and it still continues to dribble out and onto his belly scales. Isaiah takes his hands away, still warm, and leans back with a big exhale. It felt like he held his breath the entire time. A golem trundles into the room, wasting no time in dutifully cleaning up the mess on the floor.

Zeke's entire body unwinds, like a spring that has suddenly uncoiled. "Aahhhhh..." He stretches, free from his tension, "Master Izzy, that felt... woooonderful!" Looking very content, he rests his head upside down on the floor, smiling so widely Isaiah can see his fangs. His dragonhood begins its retreat back inside his small reptilian body, leaving a pearly mess on his chest as it goes.

Taking a cloth from the stack that the cleaning golem brought in its stony hand, Isaiah wipes the dragon down, trying to clean him up. To his dismay, the sticky fluid has gotten between the scales and stubbornly refuses to be removed, giving Zeke's belly a messy, sticky surface.

Isaiah hisses in mild frustration, "You need a bath now, Ezekiel." He tosses the cloth away, the dirty fabric quickly retrieved by the golem, "So troublesome."

Ignoring his master's words, Zeke asks in a curious tone: "Master, what was that? Why did it feel so good? Can we do it again?"

Isaiah stands and addresses the cleaning golem as it begins to leave the room. "Bath water, please." The stone servant stops, its eyeless head peering at Isaiah for a brief moment as it processes the request. Setting about its new task immediately, it leaves the room to fetch the water. Isaiah looks down at the still-prone dragon. Does this mean I created a regular dragon? A regular... miniature dragon?... could he even find a mate? Is he going to have that need from now on?

Realizing the dragon's question, Isaiah shuffles a little, "Ehm... it's not entirely appropriate to do that, Ezekiel."

The little dragon lifts his head, looking at Isaiah with confusion. "Why not? It felt so nice... did you enjoy it as much as I did, Master?"

It was fascinating. "... Not as much as you_did, little dragon." _But messy. And I didn't quite get the same, erm, 'stimulation' you did, Zeke. Shifting his clothes, Isaiah does feel faint stirrings of his own arousal, but it is only the curious vestiges of it, born neither from lust nor attraction.

"If it feels good, we should do it, right? Like givinga hug, or a treat!"

Isaiah wrings his sticky hands for a moment, wishing he had a wash basin, "It's... complicated."

Zeke sits up and stares at Isaiah, concerned and confused.

Dragon mating is not exactly my field of study, but I guess I have to teach him some restraint. Isaiah sighs.

"I never thought I'd have to give you this kind of talk, Ezekiel..."

---

Shafts of light spill over the rooftop to rain pleasant pale light down into the garden. The rising sun fills the air with a breath of warmth to counter the lingering chill of the late morning. Flowers sway to and fro, gently caressed by a stifled breeze carrying a hint of moisture. Isaiah stands among the cacophony of shifting colors, taking in the refreshing sights and smells of a garden alive with the breath of the morning.

"Ahh." Isaiah exhales, smiling, his eyes closed as he savors the sensations around him. I would be happy if I could spend all my time in this garden.

Kneeling down, he plucks a yellow tulip from the dirt, twirling it in his fingers and giving it a sniff. I would trade all those laboratories and books and materials, just for this place.

A golem trundles down the modest cobble pathway that winds around the garden, making its usual patrol for messes and maintenance to tend to. Although they have been tasked with the cleanliness and order of the manse, they have not been given instructions to keep and tend any flowers or decorative plants in the little enclosure that sits in the center of the building. The courtyard that now brims with color and life has been brought into creation solely through Isaiah's care and effort.

Tiny claws tap on the cobbles in a slow, staccato rhythm as Zeke sleepily walks into view along the garden path, pausing for a moment to let out a huge yawn. Like with most mornings, he's not surprised to see Isaiah already here when he cranes his neck up with bleary eyes.

"Morning, Master." the dragon mumbles.

"Good Morning, Ezekiel. Did you sleep well?"

The dragon flops down onto the cobblestones, resting his head on his front claws, "Mmm... had lotsa dreams," he shrugs his wings, "couldn't remember any."

"Same as always, then?"

Zeke chirrups softly and shifts his head.

The morning passes by quietly as Isaiah tends the garden under the not so watchful eye of his dozing dragon, the pair joined only by a soft breeze and the occasional patrolling golem. By the time Isaiah stands and dusts himself off, the afternoon sun is peering down from its place high in the cloudless blue sky. Almost on cue, a golem approaches Isaiah, it's deliberate yet hesitant movements and careful posture Isaiah recognizes as a polite request for attention from the emotionless construct. A gem set in its chest glows brightly, casting a harsh red light on its surroundings. With a step forward, Isaiah places a hand on the gem, and it begins to pulse. He speaks into open air seemingly at nobody, his eyes distant.

"Sorel? Is that you?"

A voice emanates from the golem, the gem glowing with each word, "I pray I am not too early? I brought us something to eat for lunch."

"Ah, of course not. I'll be there in a moment."

Isaiah taps against the gem with his palm before pulling his hand away, and the gem twinkles once in response before going dark. The golem stands motionless as Isaiah brushes past it, its magical programming rooting it in place. Stopping in his tracks, Isaiah turns back and addresses it.

"Return."

Without hesitation, the construct lumbers back the way it came, into the house, closely following behind its raven-feathered master. Zeke rises from the floor, having a good stretch of his legs and wings and letting out another yawn before lazily trotting after them.

At the entrance to the manse, the entry golem holds the door open with stiff hands, patiently waiting for the white-furred fox that has just stepped inside. Glimmering in the chest of the door golem is a gem not unlike the one in the messenger golem, though it maintains a soft crimson glow.

The golem diligently closes the door after Sorel, whose mouth turns up into a little smile. "Hello."

Isaiah nods and smiles in greeting, watching as the fox procures a pair of packages from his satchel.

"Just some snacks." He places one in Isaiah's hands. "Pastries I picked up at the morning market."

Isaiah looks it over with a dubious expression, "Sweets, for lunch?"

Sorel lets out an amused hum, "They're not all sweets, of course. But they're tasty."

Half of the package is filled with peculiar flat muffins, coated in cocoa and dark sprinkles and filled with a rich and sweet cream. The other half, like Sorel said, is a simple collection of freshly baked bread slices of various kinds and colors. Taking seats at a table in one of the visiting rooms of the manse, they tend to their meals. Sorel gives Zeke a share, which the dragon gobbles up eagerly.

"It's a lovely day outside." Sorel says before munching down on a muffin. The fox clearly enjoys himself, pulling away with an_'mmm'_ while cream messily spreads around his muzzle. For a moment, the black spot at the end of his snout is obscured, giving a semblance of unity to his face. All white, save his eyes; pure and beautiful, though Isaiah doesn't even notice.

"Er, you've got a little..."

Sorel licks away what cream he can reach with a wriggling pink tongue, and dabs the rest away with a napkin. "Sorry. I adore these things."

They make light talk as they continue eating, the sun beaming through the windows in the modest and cozy room. At first, Sorel is too busy eating his beloved sweets to make more than small talk, but as the minutes wind down and the muffins disappear, he seems to refocus, looking at Isaiah with thoughtful intent.

"So." Sorel says, nibbling on the last piece of muffin. He seems to be waiting for Isaiah to say something.

"So?" Isaiah says, uncertain.

"Have you painted anything recently?"

Isaiah shuffles a little, crumbs falling into his lap as he places his half-eaten bread slice onto the table, "I finished a landscape yesterday... before I came for dinner."

Sorel nods, his eyes looking downward, "I suppose I - " he begins before abruptly cutting off his thought, pausing for only a second before starting again, "May I take a look? After we finish eating, of course."

Isaiah lets out a little sigh, and nods, "Of course..."

_It never gets any easier..._hereflects, nursing the last of his meal and quietly fearing what is to come afterwards. Any small talk seems to fade in the room after that, and even Zeke senses Isaiah's discomfort. Stepping up to his master, Zeke looks at Sorel and speaks in a cheery voice, "Master Izzy said he's gonna learn to paint Zeke someday!"

Sorel seems surprised at these words, and then he laughs, "Is that so?"

Zeke nods and smiles brightly, clearly proud and excited of the prospect. Isaiah shuffles a little more, and clears his throat, "I said someday, Ezekiel. It takes time to learn."

"But Master, you gotta start 'fore you can finish. Why not start now?"

"I, ah... I may have to paint something for Sorel first. After that, maybe, okay?"

Zeke rubs his head against Isaiah's lap, looking upwards at Isaiah with concerned eyes, "Master Izzy... landscapes are scary to show to people, right? But everybody likes dragons, right? You could show dragons to everyone. You wouldn't need to be scared."

Isaiah looks down at Zeke, surprisedat the little dragon's sentiment. "That's..."

Sorel's gaze drifts between Zeke and Isaiah, his expression calm, but he says nothing.

Isaiah pets Zeke on his scaly head, giving a smile despite himself, "Maybe, Zeke. Maybe you're right."

Sorel pushes his empty container to the side of the table, dusting himself off briefly, "Isaiah, I do not intendto make you uneasy. I can come back another day." His words cut a little sharply, but his expression is soft.

Isaiah shakes his head, taking a deep breath, "No. It's not a problem. I just get a little nervous, is all. So few people see what I make." he swallows,rambling a little from his trepidation, "It's better to have someone take an interest. It's flattering..."

Sorel smiles and stands. "I hope you're not just saying that for my sake." he smiles wider, his teeth showing through his dark lips, and Isaiah realizes he's trying to lighten things up. A small amount of relief floods through him, battling bravely against his anxiety. It's Sorel. Nothing to fear, right?

Isaiah rises out of his seat, brushing the crumbs out of his clothes. He extends a lightly trembling hand towards Sorel. "I'll show you what I have."

---

The painting room is the same as it was the night before, with finished and unfinished paintings alike propped up against the walls in a whirling display of color. Isaiah stands by the doorway watching as Sorel lightly pads around the room, examining the art, picture by picture. He stops by the winter painting for a moment.

"This one is nice. The snow is so pretty."

Isaiah just stands quietly, unsure what to say. He mutters a stammering "Y-yes."

Moving on from the winter landscape, Sorel spends a moment studying each painting in succession, making little more than passing compliments and never lingering at a single one. It is suddenly clear to Isaiah that the fox is largely uninterested in what is on display.

"Hmm..." Sorel makes one last glance over the room before walking back to Isaiah.

"Ehm..." Isaiah tries to push his negative thoughts aside,"Did you find anything you like?"

Sorel gives a light smile and tilts his head politely, "You are talented, they are all beautiful."

Isaiah shuffles in place, still unsure how to take these kinds of compliments about his artistic hobby. "T-thank you?"

"I have a request, though." Sorel looks away for a brief moment, seemingly hesitating, but he quickly resumes his friendly demeanour.

"Ah..." Isaiah fidgets, "Yes?"

A moment of silence passes between the two.

"Could you..." Sorel steps away, his expression becoming distant. He looks back towards the paintings, but his eyes briefly see nothing but his own thoughts, "... paint a portrait? Paint me?"

Isaiah's hands drop to his sides, his gaze fixated on Sorel. 'But, I've never done a portrait before."

Sorel's expression returns to normal, and he places a reassuring hand on Isaiah's shoulder as if to hold his friend steady against his doubts.

"Don't be afraid. Just give it a try."

"I haven't practiced... it would be terrible."

The fox shakes his head emphatically, "That's not true. And even so, you have to start somewhere, right?"

Isaiah turns away, a little unsettled by this request. However, Ezekiel's words earlier stuck with him; it seems the little dragon's concern along with Sorel's encouragement have made some headway through his fears.

Sorel leans closer, his voice soft and tender, "Even if it's bad, I won't mind. I just want to see what it would look like, seeing myself through your brush."

Isaiah closes his eyes. Sorel... I wonder how long he has waited to ask me this.

Turning back around, he takes a deep breath to calm himself, "I'll... I'll do it." Trying his best to smile, he continues, "Who better to practice on than a friend?"

Sorel's mouth curls into a big smile, "That's the spirit!" The fox walks to the edge of the room and grabs a loose chair, sliding it to an uncluttered space and taking a seat. "I hope we can start right away?"

Isaiah nods, slowly becoming determined to do his best and see this through. He grabs a blank canvas and takes a moment setting up his paints, but before he can begin to touch brush to paper, Sorel interrupts him.

"I just have one more request..." he clears his throat and fidgets with his hands, seemingly wrestling with his next words.

Huh... is he nervous? Isaiah nods, listening attentively, brush poised sharply in his feathered hand.

"Could you... fix this-" he points at the black splotch of fur at the end of his snout, "-please? Make it white."

Isaiah is a little surprised. It would look more uniform, but... has he really always disliked that part of himself? He's never talked about it before... I always thought it didn't bother him."I'll... see what I can do, Sorel. But I think you look nice already."

Isaiah's compliment is mostly absentminded and he thinks little of it, but a second later when he looks over, he notices the fox's silky white fur has taken on a shade of red.

Isaiah can't help but grin, hisface hidden behind his canvas. He's blushing!

Dark, wispy lines appear on the canvas, Isaiah striking his brush with cautious confidence. Every few moments he peeks out at Sorel, who sits patient and still, to ensure he's getting the proportions right. All of Isaiah's fears and apprehensions melt away as he immerses himself into his task, creating sweeping fields and smooth mountains of fur on the canvas. It seems to come so easily to him; Sorel's features serve as a beautiful, unique landscape of its own, a charming face of soft white and sharp black dotted by the twin pools of his deep brown eyes.

Every so often, Zeke pokes his little head into the room. He senses the tension inside, Isaiah focusing intently on his work and Sorel holding as motionless as he can, and he does his best to avoid disturbing things, slinking away every time, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he always comes back to peek around some more.

An hour passes. Isaiah muses for a few minutes to let Sorel stretch his legs, carefully scanning the canvas with a thoughtful look. The portrait begins to take shape, the colors and shapes forming into a rough likeness of the marble fox.

Another hour passes. Sorel begins to look weary, but says nothing. The face underneath Isaiah's brush has taken a familiar shape, but remains flat and bland and unfinished. Isaiah switches to a smaller implement, leaning in close to the canvas to add detail.

Normally I don't finish a painting in just one sitting. But this time, I think I can do it.

One more hour passes. Sorel looks increasingly uncomfortable but maintains a stoic gaze and straight posture, never protesting, trusting in his friend and soldiering through.

The tempo of movement begins to lessen. Isaiah begins spending more time looking over his work than he does adding to it. Moments of careful scrutiny interspersed between a brush here, a stroke there, tweaks here and there. Zeke pokes his head in again, now recognizing Izzy's 'nearly finished' pose. The little dragon's claws tap quietly on the floor as he carefully enters, taking up a position behind his master to watch the final touches get added. Upon seeing the painting come together Zeke simply gapes in silent awe, eyes wide and little maw slightly ajar.

With one final sweep of his brush, Isaiah takes a step back and narrows his eyes, spending a long, silent moment looking over his work. Seeming satisfied, he leans to the side, eyes flitting between Sorel, still sitting and trying not to look uncomfortable, and the painting, fresh with the fox's artistic double.

After a couple more delicate dabs of brush, Isaiah steps back and takes a deep breath,

"Okay."

Sorel's ears perk up suddenly and his expression turns from stoic to relieved, "Are we finished?"

Isaiah leans around to nod at his friend, and begins organizing and storing his various paints and brushes. No longer immersed by his work, his worries have returned, but it's mixed with relief... and maybe a little bit of pride, for having seen this task through. Rather than dwell on his fears, he resolves to make sure Sorel is happy with his work. Even if I didn't do exactly as he asked...

Sorel gets up, taking a moment to enjoy a long, satisfying stretch and ruffling of his fur before padding over to Isaiah. Nodding at his feathered friend, who stands awkwardly with a handful of brushes, he turns to look at the painting, to see the result of these long, tiring hours.

A reflection of himself stares back.

Like peering into a strange mirror, Sorel stares back at his motionless doppleganger; the scintillating brown eyes in the painting glint with friendly mischief and the muzzle is curled up in a pleasant smile. The emotion in the portrait is palpable; looking at it is like looking into the eyes of a dear, caring friend, someone you've known for your whole life, who you trust and cherish, and who you know will always be there for you to share a friendly word and a few laughs. Is this how Isaiah sees me? Sorel wonders. He trusted in Isaiah's talent and thought the portrait would be good... but he didn't think he would feel unworthy of it like he does now.

The fur is immaculately textured, sweeping across the face like freshly fallen snow, curving to-and-fro among the black spots along the eyes and snout.

The black spot on the snout is still there.

Sorel turns to Isaiah, who is quietly watching from a mere step away.

"You left the nose black..." Sorel's voice is uncertain, quivering with disbelief.

Isaiah nods, gripping his brushes tightly.

"But why?"

Isaiah stares straight at Sorel, finding courage in his choice not to alter the fox's appearance.

"Because I think... you look nice. Ah..." Isaiah fidgets a little, trying to find the appropriate words, "It's a part of you, too. Like your eyes, and your nose, and your ears. Y-you may see it as an imperfection... but I see it as a part of you... a part of Sorel, you know?"

Sorel turns back to the painting, a mixture of emotions playing in his mind.

Isaiah turns away, looking a little doubtful, "I'm sorry, Sorel. I don't want to change it, but I will if you would be happier that way..."

For one long moment, Sorel stares silently at the painting. It stares back at him, smiling, eyes shining. The silky fur looks as if you could reach out and touch it, brush your hand against it. From where he's standing, the black fur on his snout, the so-called 'imperfection', seems to be not nearly so ugly, so unappealing as he had thought, from the feelings harboured deep down in his heart. It sits in its messy collection on his nose, but it does not draw the eye, nor does it detract from the rest of the visage. It doesn't make him look scruffy, nor does it look like a blemish on what would be a beautiful face. It just looks like him. It looks like Sorel. As Isaiah said, it's as much a part of him as anything else in the painting. If it were white... it wouldn't be prettier, more handsome... it would just be 'different'. It would be a painting of someone else, instead of a painting of him.

Sorel brings a paw up to his nose, stroking the dark fur upon it.

"Isaiah... thank you."

Isaiah looks surprised, nearly dropping his brushes.

"I was being silly. It was a silly request. You have really outdone yourself with this. It's... incredible."

Isaiah's beak hangs open, "Err..."

Sorel continues, his expression tender and sincere, "Your words... they mean a lot to me."

Isaiah's beak remains open, but only for a moment. Sorel takes a soft step forwards, gently tugging Isaiah closer to him, wrapping his arms around his friend and filling the open beak with his muzzle. Isaiah freezes in place, shocked, dizzy, and suddenly breathless, but as if by instinct, his feathered arms find their place around the fox's soft body. Zeke has to stifle a squeal of excitement, the little dragon having slipped from the pair's thoughts.

They cradle each other in a tender, mutual embrace, beak and muzzle intertwined. Slowly, Sorel pulls back, releasing his grip and taking a breath.

"I think you deserved that, at least."

Isaiah pants quietly, still in shock. His heart hammers in his chest and his legs tremble under his own weight. Ooh my... oh my.

Zeke can't seem to contain himself any longer, "Eeee!! Izzy and Sorel! Kissy kissy!" He bounds about happily, but then suddenly stops. "Oh! Does... this mean Izzy and Sorel are gonna mate?" He tilts his head curiously, "Who is gonna mount who?"

Both Isaiah and Sorel turn a shade of red. Isaiah finds his voice in scolding the dragon, "Augh! Ezekiel! Naughty dragon!" He sighs in exasperation and raises his hands to his face, "Gods preserve me."

Zeke is taken aback at the scolding, unaware of his complete lack of tact.

Sorel bursts out into laughter as the tension in the room evaporates, "Where does he learn these things, Isaiah?"

Isaiah shakes his head, sighing again, "It's an embarrassing story."

Sorel smiles, looking strikingly similar to his happy, playful alter-ego on the canvas. "You'll have to tell me on the way to dinner. I already have a place in mind." He turns towards Zeke, who looks back in concern, "And you too, Zeke." The dragon cavorts around briefly in response, flapping his wings excitedly.

"Yay! Food place!"

Isaiah finishes cleaning up and turns towards his friend, smiling, "Alright... but I'll only tell you the story on one condition. No making fun!"

Sorel grins widely, his eyes sparkling, "Interesting. It's a deal."

Leaving the portrait in the room to dry, Isaiah leads Sorel out of the room and into the foyer. The pair are nearly finished getting ready to leave when Sorel turns towards Isaiah with a strangely somber look on his face.

"I know you've said you shy away from magic ever since... that day." He glances towards Zeke, who is busy trying to scratch his back on a nearby footstool, "But, your paintings... do you...?"

Isaiah shakes his head, "No... that's just me. No magic." He gives a little grin, "Am I really so good you think I'm using magic?"

Sorel smiles brightly, "You have a great talent. I truly don't know how you do it." His eyes glint with mischief, "Magic would have explained a lot."

Isaiah shrugs off the topic. I do it from the heart. He places a feathered hand on Sorel's arm. "Thank you for encouraging me. I'm really glad I got to paint you."

Sorel's smile gets even brighter. His eyes close as he beams at his friend, "I'm glad too."

With Zeke following along behind them, the pair leave the manse with glowing hearts.