In the dream, there was a dome of glass.
Hooves moved as if running on the ground as the dragon glided smoothly through the air. The gleam of its nose always told it when it was too close; the glass distorted the glow and its own faint reflection, twisted, elongated in nearly the same way no matter where it approached.
Its ears pinned back, and it tipped its head forward, tapped its velvet-covered antlers against the glass. The noise was soft, high, short — surely fragile, but...
