The brass dragon is a magnificent creature of burnished gold and amber, its scales gleaming like polished metal beneath the sun’s embrace. Each plate of its armored hide catches the light, reflecting warm hues of copper and bronze, rippling with every subtle movement. Its wings, vast and elegant, fold loosely at its sides, their membranes thin as stretched parchment yet strong enough to ride the fiercest desert winds.
 
But it is the dragon’s eyes that draw the most attention. Large, luminous, and filled with an almost childlike wonder, they shine with an intense curiosity, absorbing everything in their gaze. They flicker from movement to movement—a bird flitting through the trees, a breeze shifting the grass, a distant figure vanishing into the horizon—as if searching, always searching. Yearning. Yet beneath that boundless inquisitiveness, there lingers something deeper—loneliness. A sadness, quiet yet profound, like the weight of endless centuries spent watching the world pass by, but never truly being part of it.
 
Though brass dragons are known for their love of conversation, laughter, and the company of others, this one sits alone, bathing in the sun’s golden glow, as if hoping that the light might chase away the emptiness it cannot voice.