02-17-2017, 02:57 PM
He is drifting, drifting, drifting. Leather bound wings lay flat against his spine as clawed feet dig mercilessly into the damp soil of the forest. Autumn saturates his skin, his scales, the very essence of what thumps in the bone cage of his chest. The solid and heavy rhythm echoes of a name, a fleeting body of smoke and sin. Lior wants to forget of her delicately chiseled features and the way she moves between the raindrops.
The musk of dead leaves and dampness intoxicates his heavy mind, crumbling the age old bricks of the wall he has built between himself and the rest of the world. In only a moment's breathe, the dragon is now the horse. Tall, dark, silent. The trees and their limbs seems to quiver above him in the anticipation that they may stroke his skin but he remains just beyond their grasp.
Where was he going? How had he even ended up in the forest to begin with? Had he just not been in Nerine with Nayl? The mercury eyes slide from edge to edge as he observes his surroundings in the slow methodical walk that was his usual gait. Never in a rush, never in a hurry. The hot air in his lungs suddenly reminds him that it needed to be released, comes in a soft frosted plume from his nostrils.
Not quite equine, not quite reptile.
Suddenly he finds himself dulled by this relentlessly torturous existence. What was the prize to the game? Death? If so, then so be it. The Nerine queen has denied his body, the others seemed to float in and out like a morning's fog. Feathered hooves fall heavily against the slate stone at his hooves as he remains on the edge of his old home. Seemingly the cave had shifted and changed, no longer crippled by the crumble of its former state. A shrug is all he does to acknowledge the change. Beqanna was a strange place and so he has learned to never ask questions.
And so he stacks the brick and mortar as he rebuilds the wall between himself and Beqanna.
The musk of dead leaves and dampness intoxicates his heavy mind, crumbling the age old bricks of the wall he has built between himself and the rest of the world. In only a moment's breathe, the dragon is now the horse. Tall, dark, silent. The trees and their limbs seems to quiver above him in the anticipation that they may stroke his skin but he remains just beyond their grasp.
Where was he going? How had he even ended up in the forest to begin with? Had he just not been in Nerine with Nayl? The mercury eyes slide from edge to edge as he observes his surroundings in the slow methodical walk that was his usual gait. Never in a rush, never in a hurry. The hot air in his lungs suddenly reminds him that it needed to be released, comes in a soft frosted plume from his nostrils.
Not quite equine, not quite reptile.
Suddenly he finds himself dulled by this relentlessly torturous existence. What was the prize to the game? Death? If so, then so be it. The Nerine queen has denied his body, the others seemed to float in and out like a morning's fog. Feathered hooves fall heavily against the slate stone at his hooves as he remains on the edge of his old home. Seemingly the cave had shifted and changed, no longer crippled by the crumble of its former state. A shrug is all he does to acknowledge the change. Beqanna was a strange place and so he has learned to never ask questions.
And so he stacks the brick and mortar as he rebuilds the wall between himself and Beqanna.