"I'd like to see them anyway," Ardasa said, "but first . . . " she took off, running for one of the great columns of flame. They were so hot, so thick with smoke, it was a wonder the priests could get within ten paces of it. Before she could change her own mind, she took a shaking claw and thrust it into the flames, waiting for the dracon god's detached judgement. The flames enveloped her hand like a winter glove, dancing on her scales and sometimes following the cracks between them up her arms and all the way to her elbow. Strangely, it hadn't hurt at all. It was very much like wearing a glove, in fact. She was tempted indeed to put her face through as well, but decided against it. This was pride enough, better not poke the god to any harsher action.

When she pulled her hand out, it was almost as it went in. There was perhaps a minor blister, maybe two. Nobody can be completely free of mistakes, after all, and she could never hope to match the solemn priests that passed through once a year. Maybe this was the best she could hope for, and it was, to her, pretty impressive indeed. "Alright, now take me to the kobold temples," she said, enraptured by as mundane a thing as a little blister. She traced a finger along the little stretch along her palm. Was it just her excitement, or had the pain gone already?