The sun shone hot and dry over the expanse of sand most dragons called Sunblaze Desert. The locals, and those who had actually experienced the terrain, preferred to call it by its more morbid name, the Wastes.  Across those great, glittering dunes a single speck of green dragged itself along. Above it, a vulture lazily circled in the dry air. It had been following the creature ever since it left the jungle. The vulture knew that if it simply waited long enough it would soon have a meal all to itself. The large bird turned its head, watching the speck's progress slow more and more. Finally, the speck ceased its painful motion and came to a dragging halt. 

Interest glimmered in the vulture's small eyes, and it swooped lower. The speck grew in size, becoming the form of a large green dragon as the bird descended. Though the vulture at first intended to land on its prize, the dragon groaned, and the vulture prudently changed its path mid-flight so it perched on a cactus instead. It viewed its meal curiously. The dragon once was a deep emerald, but his scales were so coated with dust and grit that he now looked a faint greenish yellow. He lay sprawled weakly on the ground, his once-powerful limbs weak and useless, and his tongue protruding through his half-open mouth. He seemed dead enough for the vulture's purposes, so it hopped from its cactus and approached with the awkward, seesawing gait of a large bird. The dragon did not seem to notice. Boldly, the vulture pecked at the membrane of his outstretched wing. Nothing. No movement at all. The vulture climbed up onto the wing and tested the dragon's shoulder scales with his beak. It was a fatal mistake. The dragon suddenly raised his head, whipping his neck around, and sank his teeth into the bird. The vulture let out a muffled squawk and went limp as the fangs pierced its flimsy flesh. The dragon adjusted the bird in his mouth and began chewing savagely.

He spat a mouthful of feathers out, then swallowed. The bird's body had given some life back to him, but the desert's denizens were too shriveled to impart much water. He tried to drag himself forward, but his claws only sank into the soft sand and pulled great palmfuls of it back towards him. It was a futile effort. The dragon stopped and lay still, slitting his eyes against the glare of the relentless sun. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of white wings in the endless blue of the sky. It was clearly a mirage. No sane creature would venture onto the desert in the heat of the day, and the white-scaled dragons had long since died out. He closed his eyes. The heat was becoming unbearable, and every drop of moisture in his body had fled. The white wings flashed again, closer this time, but he was oblivious, lost in the unconsciousness that precedes death. Wings whooshed above, and a few seconds later claws sank into the sand next to him. 

"Well, well, what does this bode? A Poisonhide all the way out here?" The speaker chuckled raspily. "Such aberrant behavior surely conceals some sort of information."