Roots

Erik thought back as far as he could, not for dragons, but for anything of the equivalent. The ice elf’s comment brought a snort out of him.
“If you think we are so similar, then you are mistaken. Jotun and dragons are of two different elements. To compare a dragons cold savagery to a jotun’s wild rage is a great mistake.”
He had fought wyverns, valkyries and other airborne threats, but had hoped his only experience with dragons would be finding his dragonskin and meeting Jormungandr’s bones.
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Kespin reveled in the thought of meeting a dragon, though it looked as if he was the only one.
“Why should we kill it? I heard that a tamed dragon is good luck! Mostly because it hasn’t roasted you by then!”
Rolling amongst the ashes of the dying fire, he noticed the will-o-the-wisp once again in a panic, the dull pinging of its attempted escape becoming quite rhythmic.
“If it truly is the Root Gnawer, then maybe it seeks Ratatoskr! To be left without information is quite maddening.”