There's something in Trahearne's expression that makes the Fool's smile fade. He tips his head, frowning. "Certainly," he murmurs in response, distracted, wondering whether he ought to offer some apology, or make amends, before he answers. He elects not to, not yet.

"They're not so different from men and women, in their various conceits," he begins slowly, as though trying to determine the best way to go about describing the dragons of his world. There is a lot to cover. "Their lifespans may cover an age and the boundaries of our little nations are meaningless to them, but their vanity can be flattered or their dignity insulted the same as any man. Humans who spend much time in their company," he adds, eyes wandering across Trahearne's face, "are... changed. It is difficult to describe, but, with a dragon's guidance, they can be changed to resemble, in many ways, dragons themselves."

A pause, and then a small smile. "We call such people Elderlings. They're gifted with lifespans that far exceed those of their forefathers."