[@dragonmancer]
Centuries? This half-dragon couldn't have been that old already. Then again, if he was a true half-dragon, it'd be very hard to estimate his age. [i]What if he just looks young? He could be doing something absurd like drinking the blood of a virgin lamb every full moon to maintain his youth.[/i] Graeme found it unlikely, but didn't rule it out entirely. He'd seen some strange people do things in his lifetime. He reminisced on the Skoom, a nomadic tribe of the north that consumed the placenta of a newborn baby as a delicacy during the Iron Tree festival. In fact, he was reminded of all the instances of new people he met on his way to this city. 

What Graeme didn't notice was the dozen small, infant-like metal hands squirming their way to the surface and tugging absently at the grass and running sand through their fingers as he daydreamed. Unbeknownst to him, whenever he daydreamed a multitude of hands made their way to the surface and had a life of their own. He sat cross legged and remained in his reverie for a while, almost completely oblivious to the world around him.