Believe you me, the price is clear
A child born, the mother near
To death and life as hand in hand

But hear you me, the break of dawn
Will wash away the sins thereof
Unto the lake, beyond the tree
The child waits, alone is she

--

In the sceurnas. Poor as sand, the dragons starved upon the hundred year famile. In midst of the firedragon's genocide she found, A child of leaves.
The tariff of the firedragons looming. The tollman spoke, demanding her lively posessions, the coin of the poor in the form of a roll of cheese.
Her only worldly posession of worth. One for a life. None for none. She or the little leaf dragon. Hazel gave the little leaf a parting gaze.
She had not long to live as a 120 year old dragon. And thus in the glimmer of skies, the posession was no more. The price is clear.