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He's physically unimposing, this slight and slender bronze, the kind of dragon who could so easily have been outright skinny were it not for the natural arch of his neck and the tailored curve of his narrow body. The red-bronze of oxidized cinnabar sweeps across him: upon the aristrocratic bent of his long, sharp face and pointed chin, where he wears his distant lineage so distinctly; up and down each sculpted neckridge; and all the way to the tip of that tail that has such a tendency to probe and pace behind him. Except in flight, he wears his dark, dulled-bronze wings tight, furled like a cloak-- and yet, outstretched, his wingspan is impressive for his size, those wingsails abruptly lustrous as their deep sheen catches any available light.