"Dragons, especially as young as you, are very delicate."
Azmakul explained, the mana in the surroundings followed his intent and moved, the snowflakes, each a complex mixture of condensed frost mana exploded forth, turning into streams.
They followed the will of the ancient dragon in front of him, whatever he thought, they became. The streams of pure mana condensed once more, but this time into a delicate flower.
"Young ones, as much as they are adorable, are very, very delicate."
The flower rotted away, and turned into the figure of a young dragon, with little limbs, and comically large wings and a head that it's body struggled to support.
"They are also, very confused, from the beginning. Our very nature demands that we are a supreme race, our race is the most powerful, thus, it bears the most weight."