Saylor

When you spend too much time on the ocean, the salt starts to crust between your scales. Sure, it washes off, but Saylor was sure that if you licked her, you'd still taste the ocean. There was a time, months ago, where she'd taken her bandana off just to find it stiff with salt and sand. The trick, she'd learned, was to take a dip in a stream or a lake, and then to let the wind dry you off above the bamboo. The salt just flakes off that way. In her time getting salt in her scales, she'd met tons of other dragons- every size, shape, color. She'd taken temporary mates, she'd fought over treasure piles, she'd let the spray hit her face as her wigtips skirted the waves. Retirement, as much as she hated to think of it like that, was peaceful. She could watch the wind blow the ocean up the sides of cliffs, spread out on soft grass and beautiful flowers. The ocean was still nice, she thought, brushing a bit of dried salt from her wings, but seeing it like this was nicer.