Firestarters always get the burns | Magnus

[magnus]

although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite
we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight

She doesn’t hesitate to follow, doesn’t balk at the invitation, and that is enough to put an even larger gleam in his eye—something twisting and unreadable that turns into a frown of concentration as he continues to barrel through the familiar paths of his volcanic home. He has long since grown used to the deceptive turns of this way, the way it grows thicker in some spots and then impossibly thinner. It reminds him always of his jungle birth home, where the vines and the trees often grew so close together that you could barely move through them; he had grown up learning how to navigate such harrowing lands.

So this is familiar to him and he breathes it in deep, laughing as she uses her wings to her advantage.

“You are much better with those than I ever was,” he laughs over his shoulder, his voice broken with his breathing but steady. “I was downright clumsy.” He still remembers those few months—years—where he had worn the eagle wings granted to him from the Gates. He had spent night after night training with them, trying to become familiar with the extra bulk and the way it had shifted his own internal center of gravity. He had fought against them and struggled. Eventually, they had become second nature, but he doesn’t deny the fact that he had been relieved when they had finally been removed.

Still, she looks graceful with them and he grins, smile lopsided, as he finally slows to a stop. His coat has darkened to crushed gold, the thin skin around his nose slick with sweat, but his eyes are bright. “We’re almost there,” he says quietly, beckoning her forth and then through an overhang of trees and branches. It scratches lightly as he steps through it and he does his best to lift it so she can go through.

When he finally turns his head, he is thrilled to see that the grove is as he had imagined.

The flowers bloom thick so that the air is perfumed with them, the green leaves on the trees glossy. All of his home is beautiful, but this little section is one of his favorites. You can see peeks of the ocean from parts of it, the crash of waves only barely muted, and the flowers are vibrant, the petals a dizzying array of colors. It has always taken his breath away, and it doesn’t stop now. He drags his eyes away from it to look to Ilma, the smile still shadowing around his mouth. “So, what do you think?”

magnus

@[Ilma]