They fall through the air together, entwined in a tangle of scales and claws and wings. From the outside, it must look like a fight: Flemeth never placed much stock in the outside perspective. One must get involved, she feels- feel the fire on your skin, the wind in your face.
He smells like smoke and blood and burning bone. Flemeth catches the scent as it rushes past in the air, feels the scorching heat of his body against hers, and they’re flying, darting together and apart.
Oh yes, of all the many privileges one has as a dragon, the dancing is the best.