Seraphina smelled them before she heard them.
Warm bread, from whatever stall it came from. Crystal dust and the scent of soldering tin. Then, the aroma of wet ink and damp paper lingering on the blue overcoat still draped across her shoulders, mixed with a scent she could only describe as Roland. A dragon's nose never lied, and tonight, there was simply too much she wanted to take in.
But the scent that lingered longest in her mind was one entirely absent from this place. Sulfur. Heated stone. And the magma smoke that plumed from the caldera every dawn.
Unconsciously, her fingers tightened around the edge of Roland's coat, and the memory of this morning came rushing back. Of the dawn in Draconia, just hours before she spent the entire day flying through the northern skies.
