04-16-2020, 07:12 PM
never thirsty, ever drinking
He is chuckling softly to nobody when the shadow makes its first pass. The silver fish disappear in a flash, but soon return when nothing more dangerous happens, and they quickly are gathering at his lowered nose, shimmying against the slick of the river's current. They are skittish and the shadows remind them of herons and kingfishers, so it is no wonder, then, that when the shadow makes a second pass, they disappear again, except for those sheltered beside the bulk of his body. Their worry makes him lift his head to scan the sky. One does not easily miss the arrival of a dragon, no less than they might miss a comet hurtling towards earth - a blot on the sun, the fire and fury of destruction falling upon them - but unlike the startled fish that dart around him, scattering beneath the rocks, he does not run.
Where would he go?
So though she is reckless and frightens the birds and rabbits and minnows, he is silent, watchful, peering up into her descent with curious ears and blue eyes squinting against the rushing wind. The water turns turbulent around him and the pallid locks of his mane and tail fly in all directions, but Dace is unmoving until the creature has landed, shifted halfway between dragon and horse, and standing before him. Water still drips in crystalline droplets from the long whiskers of his bright muzzle, which wears a soft expression against her blankness. The corners of his lips crook upwards at her question and the stallion hauls himself noisily and wetly to his feet, steps closer to her with a careful eye tracing the swing of her tail. The water beads strangely on his hair-coat and, when he shakes, seems to hover a second longer than it should, before melting back into the river.
"I belong to no-one. To what - or whom - do you belong?"
Where would he go?
So though she is reckless and frightens the birds and rabbits and minnows, he is silent, watchful, peering up into her descent with curious ears and blue eyes squinting against the rushing wind. The water turns turbulent around him and the pallid locks of his mane and tail fly in all directions, but Dace is unmoving until the creature has landed, shifted halfway between dragon and horse, and standing before him. Water still drips in crystalline droplets from the long whiskers of his bright muzzle, which wears a soft expression against her blankness. The corners of his lips crook upwards at her question and the stallion hauls himself noisily and wetly to his feet, steps closer to her with a careful eye tracing the swing of her tail. The water beads strangely on his hair-coat and, when he shakes, seems to hover a second longer than it should, before melting back into the river.
"I belong to no-one. To what - or whom - do you belong?"
@[saint]
