Before the Mallows Bloomed
There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley. I guess there weren’t any Alma Puras either. Or Naturalists. Or… Magic.
Jack huffed a laugh from his seat at the edge of the granite cliffs that overlooked Valley, Idaho. The thought had been churning in his mind for long enough that he had not noticed the sun setting, casting waves of inky blackness over the horizon and painting the city below to look like one from his worn-out Noir comics.