Ringo Flinthammer blinked in surprise and looked down at the note again.

Dear Ringo,

I hope ye’re doing well and that ye’ve had time to recover from our shenanigans in Ulduar.

Me lads from the prospecting team happened upon this poor ‘alf dead riding-drake hatchling. Must’ve been an Iron Dwarf experiment of some sort.

We’ve patched him back to health and ye’ll find he’s not so wee anymore! None of us know much about riding anything but rams and pack mules and since we owed ye one for what ye did back there … We thought perhaps ye’d accept him as a gift.

Yours,
Brann Bronzebeard

Ringo looked back up at the proto-dragon, covered in rusty metal plates fused to its flesh, and sighed.

“Beli is going to kick me arse fer bringin’ home another stray …”