Only one, long before, when the wyrm was young, had lasted this long. None had been this unmovable. This determined.

This one stood fast. He fought. He fought for things other than himself. He did not wish power for the sake of power.

It was novel, and interesting.

It had been many hours, many more than he had expected, and still this one had reserves of determination that hammered against his own with renewed fervour.

Impressive. Yes, he was impressive to continue on against the fatigue of his fragile, small body. His strength of will contained another, still contained it, despite the extended surge and push of the contest. He was all too aware of how easily these delicate, little creatures that had collared him by force when he would not give his submission surrendered to their own weakness. This one did not, had not, and perhaps would not until the very last.

Perhaps this one deserved recognition of that strength.

I have never submit.