Well, you find out that kobolds can cook an incredibly good barbecue, and although Dizzy-tail seems to be a little bit skeptical of the idea of cooked food, the repast is, to you, the most civilized thing that you have encountered since your first day in the scales of a dragon. The meat is smothered in the most wonderful seasonings, bearing a strong aroma that reminds you of clove, and the offal seems to have been either discarded or reserved for some other use. The animals used for the barbecue seem far too large to have been captured by the little kobolds, and you guess that Blunt-snout might have been the one that brought home the kills.
In all, the meal makes you feel warm enough toward the kobolds that you start indulging some curiosity about what sort of society you have literally crash-landed into the middle of. You start examining their dwellings. You try to get an idea of their sense of tidiness. You admire their gardens. Finally, you do some good, old-fashioned people-watching; there is a particularly fascinating dichotomy there. You find your observations to be enlightening.
First, the "mud huts" are not just the thrown-together slums that they seemed to be from a distance, but aside from their curious dome-shaped construction, the daub and wattle seems to be just as good as that you would see used to make any good half-timbered English home, and a sort of hard resin seems to be used to make a sort of translucent window-pane. The industrious, little creatures are not bad hands at craftsmanship. What appeared to be disorder from a distance--when you look at it up close--really just shows that some of the older-looking homes were designed with a different vision than some of the newer ones, the older ones being hemispherical arch-gabled structures with a raised cupula and the newer ones having flatter roofs over straighter sides and built with shed dormers, so architectural trends must change, from one generation to another. These people are genuine architects.
Second, the kobolds seem to have a variety of different philosophies about the idea of "tidiness." Some of the homes are well-swept "muggle" homes and kept very tidily if unimaginatively. Some of them are dens of chaos that seem to have junk lying outside of them, and the homes themselves seem to be in a poor state of repair. A few of them show that rare quality of "studied creative restlessness" that tends to go with actual genius. You had expected either uniformly tidy, ant-like creatures or uniform squalor, but that's not what you see.
In fact, the only real sense of uniformity among the kobolds, at least in their mindsets, is in their garden plots. Gardening seems to be the primary religion of the kobolds. Their gardens are almost like shrines with beautiful, ornate plants growing everywhere in rune-like patterns. Although no two of them are entirely alike, all of them seem to be kept up to the same standard of beauty, not one plant seeming to lack even a moment's nurturance. Gardening, you can tell, is the one truly unifying force in the existence of these little creatures.
However, the fruits of your people-watching has you watching their "wings." The adults, particularly the elders, seem to hold their wings closely around them like robes, seeming like they might have never extended the appendages in their lives except for the sake of necessary bathing. Younger kobolds that linger close to these elders tend to have the same sense of modesty, shyly keeping their wings furled close to themselves.
There is a whole different story, regarding this "modesty," among those that linger close to the dragons, which largely tend to be the younger ones and particularly Blunt-snouts followers. In imitation of Dizzy-tail and Blunt-snout, who--unlike you--hold their wings at a perky and relaxed-looking sort of angle, these young kobolds seem to take delight in showing off their bodies, demonstrating a more liberated demeanor as they happily skip and prance about like fauns. You can tell by their body-language that they consider this to be a sort of nudist trend: rather than being relaxed and comfortable like the other two dragons, most of seem to have the self-consciousness of streakers.
The reactions of the elders to this behavior, by Blunt-snout's followers, seem to be very mixed. Some of them, while still holding themselves tightly encapsulated in their wings, show expressions of mild, scholarly interest, and while they don't take their eyes off of the young ones for even a moment as they cavort about, these more interested elders seem to be more watchful than disapproving, certainly watching to see how something that is new to them is going to play out. There are some other elders, though, that sulk and avert their eyes from the scene, and these seem to lash out angrily at any of their own flock that start wandering too close to the more faun-like dragon-followers.
In general, you find your time spent observing the kobolds to be very enlightening. Their architecture and their lifestyle are so diverse as to be ordinary for a human culture, but they clearly have a devotion to keeping gardens, which you suspect is a part of the special magic of these people. You also sense that there is a rift in their society; between those that accept the dragons and their followers and those that do not.
As you notice that you are still keeping your wings furled about you like a cloak and fearing your own nakedness, you wonder which side of that rift you are really on. This thought makes you uncomfortable, and you long to be alone again with Dizzy-tail, around whom you have no shame at all. Even now, you feel like you are a terrified human in a scale-suit, rather than being really a dragon. In spite of everything, your transformation is only skin-deep except around the one dragon that you truly love the most.
During dinner, Blunt-snout exposes you to a sort of beer that the kobolds seem to adore. It tastes nothing like a human beer, and like most of kobold cuisine, there is that very strong taste of clove in it. These people seem to use clove in just about everything, you realize. Heeding Blunt-snout's advice, though, you only take the concoction in the smallest of sips and try to put down plenty of your mega-elk in-between. {{You won't be doing much flying for a while, so eat! You will heal faster from your injuries!}}
The kobolds have a little bit of the beer, themselves, and their instruments soon trill with beautiful, haunting music played on reed flutes, maracas, a drum, and some sort of wooden percussion instrument.
As the after-dinner festivities set in, dessert arrives, and here, you find out that your lover, Dizzy-tail, does not have very much of a sweet-tooth. {{Offal and sweet-milk pudding?}} he shouts in disgust over the din. {{You are serving us straight offal...as if we were hatchlings??}}
Blunt-snout chuckles at Dizzy-tail. {{Well, old drakes like me enjoy offal every once in a while}} he says. {{It keeps you strong! You whelps ought to have more of it if you want to stay competitive.}}
You start to giggle as Dizzy-tail fumes about this. As you bend your neck to try some of the concoction, you find that you sort of like it. It's a little bit like eating the sort of pudding that is served at an old-folks' home: it is not objectionable in itself, but you guess that seeing mostly toothless infants and the very elderly eating the stuff might make it seem unappetizing.
As the music continues to play in the background, you and the other two drakes eventually return to the same green that Blunt-snout had flattened out for training purposes, and as you let the other two dragons talk, you look up at the stars thoughtfully. For a moment, as you look up at those familiar constellations, you start to escape a little bit from this weird world. You don't escape to your human life, though, since you never fully figured that out, either. You escape into the stars, just like you did when you were a kid. You find something very rational and comforting about the stars, so high above all of the insanity around you.
Your moment of introspection is interrupted by...