We find ourselves on the plane of Bloomburrow. A curious world of tiny creatures and calamitous titans locked in a struggle for survival. Here, life, although lilliputian in scale, is enormously fascinating.  

A diminutive mouse scurries along the ground in a field of dandelions. Its keen eyes and ears are attuned to the sound of predators. Calamity beasts and their cousins could be lurking behind every stalk and bush. On this plane, to be aware is to survive.  

Suddenly, a shadow overhead and the rumble of thunder. The mouse freezes, every muscle and sinew locked in suspense. Its mind races with the possibilities – death can come from above, but usually it arrives on the sound of feathered wings. Here, the mouse’s keen ears can detect no such noise.  

Enter draco aviarus – the Dragonhawk. An interloper to the plane of Bloomburrow, this extraordinary creature is a curious hybrid of dragon and bird. Thought to originate from a rogue Dragonstorm – a phenomenon usually observed on the plane of Tarkir – this Dragonhawk is unlike any other predator on the plane. Peerless in both aspect and prowess, this predator presents a unique danger to the denizens of Bloomburrow.  

On the ground, our rodent friend remains petrified into stillness. It weighs its options; to stay or to move? Each may end in a quick death. The mouse reaches a decision – run. It explodes into motion, rushing through the dandelion stalks. The Dragonhawk’s keen eyes perceive the blur of motion, and, with a thunderous roar, the hunt is on. 

Though the mouse is outmatched in terms of size and speed, it has an advantage; it knows the terrain of its home. Running in a zig-zag in order to confuse the hunter, the mouse makes its bid for survival. The Dragonhawk’s four powerful wings can propel it to incredible speeds, but the mouse’s manoeuvrability forces it to slow its pace. It makes a lunge, and at the last second the mouse turns aside, leaping into a small tunnel beneath an overhang. The Dragonhawk roars its frustration. Its large talons are perfect for rending skin and flesh, but near-useless for digging. It scrabbles at the tunnel’s entrance, attempting in vain to extract its prey.  

Soon after, the Dragonhawk seems to realise the futility of its endeavour. With a flap of its mighty wings, it is airborne. Today, it shall not dine on mouse. The mouse will see another sunrise. For how long, however, none can tell. Such is life, on the extraordinary plane of Bloomburrow.