The Ironwyrm was sleeping again.
Vistra Gorvaxis knelt at the entrance of Mine Shaft Seven and watched the creature's flank rise and fall in the slow, geological rhythm that passed for breathing in a two-hundred-and-fifteen-year-old divine beast. The Ironwyrm filled the shaft's widened chamber — thirty meters of scaled bulk, each scale the size of a dinner plate, colored in gradients of iron-grey and rust-brown that made the creature look like a section of the mountain that had learned to breathe.
Six hours. The Ironwyrm had been sleeping for six hours. Three months ago, it slept two hours. Six months ago, it slept for one.
Vistra wrote in the Warden's log:
Day 312, Year 315 AF. Ironwyrm sleep cycle: 6 hours (previous month average: 4.5). Breathing rate: normal. Scale coloration: unchanged. Physical condition: no visible decline. Temperature: warm to touch (standard). Assessment: sleep increase continues. No apparent distress.
She set down the pen and looked at the creature.
