Flint Snaps

The Flint Snaps are dragons of the road. Not forged in fire or carved in storm, but shaped by place, patience, and time.

They are found not when you seek, but when you stop.

When the map falls quiet. When the path softens.

When the world tells you to rest, and you listen.

One gleams with smooth flint the hush of Bridewell Alley, its surface smooth and sealed like the stories held behind prison walls.

Another lies among the fractured stones of Burgh Castle, pale and weathered, its body shaped by centuries of silence and exposure.

These are Flint Snaps, guardians of old sanctuaries scattered across the Wyrm Road.

Perhaps they were left behind to protect what matters most.

Or perhaps they were born from the ruins themselves, drawn to stillness, bound to memory.

They do not call out. They do not chase.

They wait.