He scowled inwardly and began to waddle towards the middle through the muddy snow. Tyrion hated many things, but none as much as his short, stubby legs. Oh, if only he had been born with long limbs and half as pretty as his siblings. But he shook his head and banished the thought. People rarely got what they wanted, and the gods loved to laugh at the plans and dreams of men. Tyrion had dwelled more than enough on what could have been in the past few moons; now, there were more urgent things. Like that dragon that had landed in the middle of the camp. That dragon was the size of Drogon, yet with completely different colouring.