Stepping out of your lair at dusk, you flare your immense nostrils to feel the cool night air. Stepping with massive strides, you gaze upon the realm that is just outside a small, precarious perch, the exit of your lair. You feel an intrinsic sense of authority over it. A sense of ownership. Stretching out your wings, you prepare to depart with a single goal in mind: to hunt.

The wind catches beneath your wings, and with a mighty leap, you soar into the air. You take a short breath, drinking in the fresh wind as you begin to flap your leathery airfoils, cutting through harsh airs like the sharpest knife through butter. With a whip of your sinewy neck, you survey the area beneath you, when something catches your eye.

A knight convoy. Interesting. The knights of the empire don't usually come around through these parts. After all, between the dangerous wildlife and vast woods, it is easy to go missing. You beat your wings once again, soaring higher and higher to get a better look without the convoy noticing your large form.

Once again, you gaze down, your draconic eyesight allowing you to see everything clearly. Indeed, it is a knight convoy escorting several merchants and oxen. They don't look too well armed. They must think that they're safe here, that no sane man would attack them. Unfortunately for them, you are no man.

Flapping your wings with greater ferocity, you make quick distance on them and land in an empty forest clearing. You do not wish to take them head on right away, though you would probably succeed. You wish to watch them, to stalk them for a while before announcing your presence. And, of course, indulging yourself with the unfortunate soul that gets to live. Brushing past large trees, you crouch low with predatory intent, watching them as the convoy gathers around a campfire and begins to idly chatter amongst themselves.