• "There has always been something a little bit different about mountains in that area," people would say. "They always seemed a bit funny to me. A bit sad, maybe, a bit lost. Well, if mountains could be sad, or lost, or even funny. It's just...well, you know. Yes? No? Maybe so? Nevermind, forget I said anything, mind wandering I suppose." And then, when they were done making such absentminded comments as these, they would go about their daily business, like the important responsibility of muck raking (which is, as everyone knows, the only thing that really poor peasants ever do).

    Everyone thought that the oddity of the mountains was all in their head. How could a giant hunk of rock feel abandonment? How could a sheer cliff face look bereft? It was all in their heads, right? But this was wrong. The mountains were sad, and lonely, and lost, and bereft and abandoned even. But why?

    This is because all the dragons had left. Where had they gone? To be perfectly frank, to be perfectly honest, to be straight and forward and true, I’ll tell you no lies and I’ll feed you no fibs, on my honor this is the honest barefaced reality, they’d all gone on holiday.