04-20-2023, 08:03 PM
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He has never really considered whether or not he is a coward. He is a survivor, this he knows. Abandoned from birth, he had managed to reach this stage of life (later, he will realize it was his trait-snitching abilities and the plethora of magic-imbued nomads mucking about that saved him in those early days). But is he brave? He does not think so, not particularly. Another might argue that the fact that he does not immediately run in terror as the dragon draws closer is a sign of bravery … and he does try to steel himself to face the creature.
The beast’s chest rumbles and Meyer’s heartbeat races ahead of the sound. He reminds himself not to lock his knees, his dry tongue rasping along equally dry lips, drowned by the sound of scale on stone.
When bright eyes meet mournful ones, he hopes that he does not look as scared as he feels. The dragon bares his teeth, inhales, and Meyer misses the bit of mischief in the reptilian eyes. This is it, this is when I die, he thinks, and his regret is that his time here was so short. Nostrils just as wide as his eyes, his sides heaving … it takes him a second to register that his eyes are beginning to burn and water and he is, in fact, not dead. Letting out the breath he did not realize he was holding, he makes another mistake by immediately inhaling afterward, which sends him into a coughing and wheezing fit, eyes screwed tightly shut.
His adrenaline spikes again when the dragon rumbles, followed by the sound of leathery wings suddenly unfurling, and again the rasp of scale meeting rock. Meyer scrambles to the side again, in what he hopes is out of the direct line of fire, before squinting in the dragon’s general direction, the stranger little more than a black blur draped across some of the ruins. “Not at all,” he replies dryly, forcing sarcasm to overrule the tremble in his voice. “You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve met.” He does not know why he lies. The dragon shape grows more clear as he blinks away the tears. “Certainly the rudest one I’ve ever met,” he adds, muttering under his breath. He does not know why he says this, either, save his judgment may be clouded by the numbing wave of relief that comes with the fact that he, in fact, did not die. Not yet, at least.
The beast’s chest rumbles and Meyer’s heartbeat races ahead of the sound. He reminds himself not to lock his knees, his dry tongue rasping along equally dry lips, drowned by the sound of scale on stone.
When bright eyes meet mournful ones, he hopes that he does not look as scared as he feels. The dragon bares his teeth, inhales, and Meyer misses the bit of mischief in the reptilian eyes. This is it, this is when I die, he thinks, and his regret is that his time here was so short. Nostrils just as wide as his eyes, his sides heaving … it takes him a second to register that his eyes are beginning to burn and water and he is, in fact, not dead. Letting out the breath he did not realize he was holding, he makes another mistake by immediately inhaling afterward, which sends him into a coughing and wheezing fit, eyes screwed tightly shut.
His adrenaline spikes again when the dragon rumbles, followed by the sound of leathery wings suddenly unfurling, and again the rasp of scale meeting rock. Meyer scrambles to the side again, in what he hopes is out of the direct line of fire, before squinting in the dragon’s general direction, the stranger little more than a black blur draped across some of the ruins. “Not at all,” he replies dryly, forcing sarcasm to overrule the tremble in his voice. “You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve met.” He does not know why he lies. The dragon shape grows more clear as he blinks away the tears. “Certainly the rudest one I’ve ever met,” he adds, muttering under his breath. He does not know why he says this, either, save his judgment may be clouded by the numbing wave of relief that comes with the fact that he, in fact, did not die. Not yet, at least.
@Roué