In the Reshaw Mountains that border the Freeborn Sea, twin caves form dark maws like black eyes on the white cliffside. At sunrise and sunset, great bellows echo down the mountains, shaking every tree in their wake until the sound ripples out across the water. When the dragons roar, you can feel it in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow.
And when they fly, the heavens part.
Silhouetted against an orange setting sun, a teal dragon circled the sky, splitting clouds with each flap of its mighty wings. It cast a shadow over the trees that was large enough to be an omen in itself, one that condensed into a slender shape over the land when the dragon corkscrewed and then burst open when it reopened its wings to catch the updrafts coming off the water. The dragon propelled itself higher and higher, climbing the sky in flaps until it reached the sun's crest. Then it pulled in all its limbs, flattened the spikes that ran along its spine, and arched backward, looping over itself to change direction, before freefalling in a tight spiral toward the sea.
Its impact on the water birthed a wave that flooded the village bordering the forest at the base of the mountain.
A second dragon, one with crimson scales, crept out of its cave. It crawled down the cliffside using its talons to pierce footholds in the rock. Instead of heading straight down it zigzagged, whipping its long red tail back and forth for balance as it scurried down into the forest. It had wings as well, though the span was a tad shorter, and it used them not to fly but rather for stability and ease of movement as it wove through the trees heading for the sea bank. When it took to the water it swam past the floating remains of dilapidated straw roofing that the teal dragon's wave had ripped from the village's houses. Then it dove down to the depths.
The flood water slipped back from the village in an ebb tide and resettled into a placid, silver calm atop the sea. The sun winked one last time on the horizon, and the sky tinted purple. Star clusters brightened against the shroud of night.
The dragons erupted from the water's surface intertwined, twirling up, up, up toward the stars, alternating wing beats to keep their trajectory steady. Above the trees, above the mountains, high in the sky just under the moon, they pushed off each other to split the hold, and their momentum propelled them into another kind of twirl. They orbited in a long stretch over the sea, mirroring each other, their legs tucked, their wings extended to a full span. Each held the other's gaze, reptilian eyes locked together as if by an invisible string to ensure the center point of their dance remained constant. If the teal dragon sped faster, so then did the crimson dragon. If the crimson dragon dipped and rose, so then did the teal dragon. They roared together. A deep, cavernous, guttural sound mixed with the high scream of a bird of prey.
The sound crossed continents, traveled so far it earned a name. Dragonsbliss.