The next time Wyheree saw the bronze dragon at the Red Dragon Inn, she approached him shyly, telling him that the warrior maiden misspoke - she was not interested in dragon skins or any such things. When she asked his name, he told her he was known as Bolt. They shared small talk for a short time, and when he left, they made arrangements to meet again the next night. The more time Wyheree spent with Bolt, the more she grew to trust him. He seemed honorable, noble, and loyal, and the words he whispered in her ear - oh the longings they triggered. Before meeting Bolt, Wyheree was able to ignore the isolation and loneliness her accident created. Now....the bronze's attention become like a drug, and the pretty words soon became teasing kisses....and those quickly escalated into wild passionate meetings in the forest glens....the feel of his lips upon the soft pulse of her throat, the strength of his hands as they caressed her body, coaxing it back into warmth, and the ultimate consumation of his heat and her ice....it all acted as an opiate, an addiction only sated by Bolt. As she fell deeper in love with the dragon, she couldn't help but notice he spent so much time away, leaving her for weeks on end without a word. Wyheree would grow upset and agitated during these absenses, but all her anger vanished whenever Bolt returned to her arms. When he was with her, often they were interrupted by others - mostly women - who wanted Bolt's head (among other things) on a plate. Bolt treated these others with distain, taunting them while curled up in her lap, knowing full well that no ordinary woman would dare challenge a known magic-user. As the months passed, the absenses grew more frequent, and the excuses less believable. One dark night in the cemetery, she saw Bolt, her love, the one she believed was hers alone, cradling another woman in his arms, whispering in the same way he had done to her....and her heart shattered...