In the great tropical forests, he met Monsera.

But it was not during the rainy season. It was the dry season.

For many weeks, the sky above the forest had been empty of clouds. The rivers had sunk below their beds, their waters still flowing slowly beneath layers of stone and sand where the sun could not reach them. The air hung heavy and still above the endless green canopy.

Below, small tribes of people waited.

They watched the sky each morning and evening, hoping to see the towering clouds that would bring the long rains.

But the sky remained clear.

The Weatherdragon circled high above the forest, studying the air.

Far away, beyond the mountains, the great monsoon clouds were gathering strength. But they had not yet reached the forest.

Below him, the land was growing thirsty.

Animals moved along ancient trails worn deep into the earth, searching for the distant smell of water.

The tribespeople waited beside the riverbeds, their eyes turned toward the sky.

The Weatherdragon rose higher into the warm air. He searched the sky above the forest, but there was little moisture drifting there.

For a moment, he hovered, uncertain.

Then a strange instinct stirred within him.

He drew a long breath and blew across the rising air through his nose.

The wind that left him was cold.

The warm forest air shivered as it met the chill breath, and faint white wisps appeared where the two met.

Curious, the Weatherdragon breathed out again through his nose.

The thin wisps thickened. Small clouds gathered above the forest canopy where the warm rising air met the cold breath of the dragon.

Slowly, the clouds began to grow.

Then the rain began.

At first, it was only a soft mist drifting through the forest canopy.

Then the clouds opened and warm rain began to fall across the thirsty land.

Below, the tribespeople lifted their faces to the sky.

Children ran laughing through the falling rain.

The dry riverbeds darkened as water returned to the earth.

And then the rain began to fall harder.

The clouds thickened above the forest as if something enormous were moving within them.

A great shape glided through the growing storm.

Monsera.

Monsera was immense, her scales deep emerald and dark jade like the endless jungle below. Along the length of her wings ran pale silver veins where rainwater gathered and streamed as she flew. Mist trailed behind her, and wherever she passed, the clouds thickened, and the rains grew stronger.

Her wings were broad and powerful, built for carrying the great seasonal storms across the continents.

She circled once through the gathering rain and studied the forest below.

"You have begun the rains early," she said.

The Weatherdragon watched the animals emerging from the forest and the tribes celebrating beneath the falling rain.

"I have always had a soft spot for living creatures," he said.

Monsera lowered her great head slightly.

First Wind, she said softly. You have returned.

The Weatherdragon frowned gently.

"I do not remember that name."

Monsera's eyes shone with quiet amusement.

"The clouds remember," she said. "They whisper your name and that of another."

Then she lifted her wings and rose higher into the storm.

"Come," she said. "Let us finish the season."

Together they opened the sky.

The clouds deepened. The rains spread outward across the forest, rolling through valleys and across the endless green canopy.

Rivers began to move again beneath the earth. Animals lifted their heads to the falling rain.

And the thirsty land drank deeply.

When the last thunderheads drifted eastward, mist rose gently from the forest.

And still the Weatherdragon travelled. Still searching.

For somewhere deep within his ancient heart, there was a quiet pull, a guiding feeling he could never quite explain.

Something waited. Something unfinished.