All things are possible: Scorch

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Her tattoos are, unsurprisingly, a sore point in any thought or conversation she has. The spirit, while elusive, has yet to return them in full; curiously, however, Scorch woke up one morning with faintly flaming cornet bands, and what looked like the distorted beginning of a vine on her right pastern. When first she noticed, Scorch nearly jumped for joy – well, she did prance on spot for a hot sec, but she checked to make sure no one was around first.

Today, nigh on a week later, the tattoos have stretched perhaps a half inch higher. The agonizingly slow progress causes her jaw to ache from constant clenching, but even these little improvements bring joy to her heart. Not that she has one.

She’s grazing when he stumbles upon her, a sigh ready upon his dark lips. Raising her sturdily boned head, the baroque perks her ears and whickers softly for her son. Mimicking his calm grin, Scorch positions herself comfortably across from him. This boy has been perhaps the most vigilant of her children, and unlike the beginning of their last encounter, Scorch encourages his faithfulness with immediate joy. Or at least with the most joy-like expression she can muster.

“Well, eels don’t generally occupy deserts, genius.” A hoarse chuckle rumbles from her wide, powerful chest. “What is a young, strapping lad like you doing here, scavenging for his eel of a mother?”

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle