Over the great tropical ocean, the Weatherdragon met Typhor.

Typhor was enormous, even by dragon standards. His scales were deep cobalt blue, edged in pale silver like moonlight on water. His wings were vast and sweeping, shaped for long gliding turns above the sea, and when he moved through the sky, he looked like a living current rising out of the ocean.

Below them, a powerful storm rolled across the open sea.

The Weatherdragon watched the clouds gathering strength when something small caught his eye far below.

A narrow dugout canoe.

Three fishermen were rowing desperately toward a distant island while waves began to rise around them.

The storm was coming fast.

Typhor saw them as well.

"If the storm reaches them now," he said, "they will not survive the crossing."

The Weatherdragon studied the winds carefully.

"Then we must temper the storm."

Typhor circled lower above the sea, his enormous wings bending the spiral winds outward.

The Weatherdragon climbed higher into the growing thunderheads and lifted the tallest clouds where lightning and rain could release their energy.

Slowly, the storm softened. The winds dropped. The towering waves settled into long rolling swells.

Below them, the fishermen rowed with all the strength they had left.

The island grew closer.

When the canoe finally scraped against the sand, the fishermen stumbled onto the shore and fell to their knees in exhausted relief.

High above the ocean, the two dragons watched the storm gather its strength again as it moved out across the empty sea.

Typhor turned to the Weatherdragon.

"You guide storms well," he said.

The Weatherdragon nodded, though something inside him still felt unfinished.

The warm ocean wind moved quietly between them.

Typhor lifted his head slightly. For a moment, he listened to the breeze.

Then he lowered his great head and curved one vast wing forward in a quiet gesture of respect.

First Wind.

The Weatherdragon looked at him with quiet confusion.

"I do not know that name."

Typhor studied him carefully.

"The wind spoke it," he said.

"The wind remembers many things."