Somewhat to your shock, the humans do not either bow to the dragon as a god or run screaming from him. The humans just continue going quietly about their business.
You really cannot identify clearly what age the technology is set in. In the community's layout and rhythm of life, it seems to resemble Old West towns, with life seeming to center around a saloon filled with stressed-out miners and the odd prostitute trying to do business in spite of harassment by putative authorities. This really clashes with the available technology in the town, though: there is not a single molecule of iron in the entire town that is not also in someone's bloodstream. The construction of the wagons, in spite of great care obviously being taken in it, seems to be somewhere in the same realm as how things were done in ancient Egypt. And the music...it sounds sort of like some fusion of old New Orleans jazz and klezmer. What makes the place so very strange is not what makes it altogether alien, but more halting are these most unexpected permutations of familiar themes amid the strangeness.
As one more wagon loaded with ores trundles by you and Stalker, you wonder to him, {{Can they just not see us, or are do they see dragons all of the time?}}
{{These particular humans are just not especially dramatic. There are some, in a different land, that worship dragons as agents of the gods, and there are others that regard us as pests and villains}}
{{Pests?}} you reply, aghast. {{That is terrible}}
{{Then don't steal from humans}} he replies wryly. {{They are sensitive about that}}
You had never thought of it that way, but it was sound enough reasoning. {{So how does one become revered as a god?}} you ask, a little curious.
{{By some humans being very dumb}} he replies, and he adds, {{which these humans most certainly are not, as a general rule. Besides that, there is one place I heard of where dragons are ridden like beasts of burden, and some evil magic there seems to mute their telepathy, eventually driving them mad, although that might have been a tale intended for scaring whelplings. Well, I was scared of it as a whelpling, anyhow}}
At that, a weaselly-looking man comes up beside you. It is most odd seeing a man about the size of a cat boldly approaching you, a towering nightmare vision of a dragon. As you look closely, you realize that he looks so weaselly partly because he has grown out his sideburns quite hugely into fleecy, russet-brown mutton-chops that would make General Burnside blush, but he is sort of dark-complexioned. "Hello up there!" he shouts cheerfully.
You come to a stop, and Stalker pulls up beside you, bending his head down with you to hear the human. {{Don't even try pushing your wares here, Jim}} he says with wry amusement and...affection? Sort of the guarded, amused affection that one would show toward a good friend that one knows not to trust on certain trivial levels. Or did you hear that bubbling in Stalker's surface thoughts? It occurs to you that, without intonation to go by, thought-speech must carry intonation by more literal information regarding thoughts and feelings.
"Now, Stalker!" the little man objects, "have I only ever spoken to you when trying to make business off of you?"
{{Well, you have occasionally approached me when asking me for a favor}} Stalker admits. He tilts his head to the side in a friendly sort of manner, and he adds, more warmly, {{and by the way, how is your niece doing?}}
"She's growing like a weed!" Jim replies. "I do hope you will see her while you are in town, Stalker. Now, who is this friend of yours, here?"
{{He is just a country dragon, and his skills are not developed well beyond being fledged. I was hoping to find him some work, so he can get some experience}}
Jim looks you up and down quizzically. "Well, if you're fledged, young drake, then I might have an errand for you to run," he says. "It takes you into those lands where they think dragons are living agents of the gods, though. Dragons around here either find that to be objectionable or have skills their employers won't part with, but if you are up for it, I do know of a philosopher there that has a special process for making iron ore into a virtually indestructible alloy."
Stalker swings his head over to you and looks at you humorously. {{Oh, my goodness; another innovation}} he says.
"I am offering good gold for it. I understand that dragons are partial to the yellow metal, although that might have been some sort of rhyming pun."
Stalker makes a shrugging motion. {{No moreso than humans are}} he says. Turning his head again to you, he whispers to you privately, {{I wouldn't buy his wares if I were you. However, it's an easy mission, and Jim pays well. The dragon-worshipers can actually be amusing in small doses. If you were to take the job, then I might go with you as a chaperone...for a 20% fee and also your solemn oath to never tell anyone around here that I went to that nest of bordellos}}
You choose to...