Wrena
she sucks the blood of the slain,
& the wolf tears men; would you know yet more?
For a while now the fire-child has wandered farther and farther from her last point each time she takes to the skies alone, which is not very often. Most times she is accompanying her mother on some chore, or wasting time listening to her big sister – sometimes they go on adventurous, but mostly it’s just her sister (much more diplomatic than she) barking orders and hovering like a hen. Today on this rainy morning she finds herself alone, combing the gray beach for things washed on the shore. Today she finds nothing fun, but she wanders still. When she comes to some jagged pillars of beaten stone she admires them for a time and takes wing, a running start is needed first of course. She ascends from the sand and crashing waves of Nerine’s most westerly sea border to balance playfully at the tip of the towering stone, looking down and around but the drizzle and fog has covered most things in the distance. The sun is muffled on the southern horizon, but it is there. Just as the rain is beginning in Nerine, the sun beams in its retreat elsewhere. Wrena has never left Nerine without either her mother or her sister – until today.
Whoosh. Soft on the wind like an owl between evergreens. Her wings are massive in comparison to her tall, lean frame. They’re scaled in smooth onyx dragon-skin, obsidian claws adorning each bone tip, the first being the biggest for clinging. Her jack-o-latern eyes burn through the veil of mist as she soars over the swathing seas, thundering booming and threatening in the distance but she avoids it with ease. Wrena cannot resist running across a violent swell here and there, crashing through the crests of angry white sea-foam. She laughs to herself, twirling in mid-air, diving from great heights to dip her toes to the waves as she plays. Wetness sleeks her coat and glistens her wings by the time she touches down on the River’s marshy shoreline. Some slickness is from the sea and some from the rain, either way she is soaked once she arrives in the rainless place.
A few large cranes, blue and cautious, flee with a subtle splash which makes the dragon-girl startle a bit, smoke billowing from her nostrils with alarm. Even with little control over her magic, she’s always ready to fry something – especially when it makes her scared. With never leaving Nerine without a chaperone…she’s never had the chance to fry much at all (aside from a few poor critters). She creeps out of the knee deep marshes that surround the shores, much unlike her home’s sandy and rocky coves. It smells of wet forest as she ventures onto drier (not by much) land. Moss squishes beneath her and the wind howls between the bony trees, she tightens her wings to ribs and shivers. Much colder than home too…
The promise of sun was surely a cruel trick. It is only sunny a small amount and it is chilly enough to freeze an egg, it feels like. She wanders only a little more before gathering what she can of flaky moss, bark and twigs, breathing a lick of flame gently onto it until a flame is born. As she’s learned from her mother, she feeds it with dry wood broken under hoof, standing over it with her wings spread and curved to absorb it fully.
apologies for probable typos, me tired
she needs kidnapping. more info here.
<3