08-09-2019, 06:23 AM
She hadn't hesitated to attack him.
Feeling the vibration on his rocky surface, the sentient rock felt sorry. She'd hit him, hard enough for a rock to notice. He hoped it was her hoof, not her knee, for the latter would mean she’d have to continue to stay airborne throughout their skirmish. On the other hand, he strangely felt satisfaction: her own attack had hurt her, the way his fire had hurt him.
For a while, the white rock didn’t notice anything else, and wondered where she had gone. It took him a while to notice heat and restriction on his surface, and then some time to guess what she was doing. Finally he figured it was the same as she had done before, when he’d set fire the first time - she’d fed the grass to make the fire rise higher, and this could be similar.
A stubborn thought surfaced. Beneath the surface, where hopefully she would not see, the rock grew roots; feeding off the magical energy that he found there, he hoped to heal some of the fire damage from when he’d burned himself, and to store some energy.
The rock grew larger due to his shifting abilities and the nutrients he greedily took; snapping the grass by using his sharp rock edges and the pressure of his growth. He became the largest fire-resistant plant he knew, with a twist since could alter his body any number of ways. Now, instead of a rock, a giant Baobab grew, but with bark made of solid rock - he kept that, because he didn’t want to be hurt by fire again. The process had been deliberately slow, so that he could take up the most nutrients and magical strength while he grew, and hopefully the grass would get a little less. Emerald eyes peered from the upper half of the tree’s stem, finding the red speck in the sky easily enough.
Naturally, she stopped feeding the plants.
To the tree, nothing seemed to happen for a while.
Slowly the tree started to feel sick. He wasn’t breathing like animals would, but his leaves tried to filter the air to no avail, finding a sickness instead of the desired carbon dioxide. Leaves turning golden and dry, he had to let them go. Now he was glad to have taken the magical energy previously. He knew that he had to shift soon - any simmering ember could flare those leaves too easily for him to stay a tree safely, however much he was fire-resistant.
He considered his options - to avoid the sickness, he would be best off being something inanimate, but that ultimately hindered his movement, thinking, and the battle as a whole. Besides, he’d been a rock already. That meant he needed to be something that could resist the sickness for long enough to survive this horror.
The tree was replaced by a towering golden dragon, keeping the size. Not because he wanted to breathe fire at her -he looked at her defiantly and didn’t-, but the creatures are naturally resistant to magic (perhaps disease too?) and heat. Flying upwards immediately, the dragon’s wings stirred up the ground, embers, and airborne disease below. Yet he already found his head spinning and a couch itching in his throat, and knew it wouldn’t be long before he would come down one way or the other. And he didn't want to land on his still-sore legs.
He knew this sickness now. He’d had it before, and he'd drank the Cure. It was that same magic that gave him the ability to change, that had negated his sickness, and now Noah had him sick all over again, if temporary (oh, how he hoped it’d be temporary). Such meanness was unexpected coming from her - and possibly made his shifting less predictable. He'd have to shift while he could.
He beat his wings thrice. Up, up, up - and then he coughed, and a peregrine falcon chased the mare through the sky. In dive, he would be faster than any other bird - faster than a pegasus. Speed was the only thing that could save him from getting too sick to fight her.
Another cough. He became as tiny as he could think of.
The flea used his previous momentum to try and land on the coat before him, hoping to bite her and transmit whatever disease she had given him to force her to heal both - if he could catch it, she might, too. And if she was resistant, a drop of her blood might be enough to aid him in some way.
It would only itch.
Feeling the vibration on his rocky surface, the sentient rock felt sorry. She'd hit him, hard enough for a rock to notice. He hoped it was her hoof, not her knee, for the latter would mean she’d have to continue to stay airborne throughout their skirmish. On the other hand, he strangely felt satisfaction: her own attack had hurt her, the way his fire had hurt him.
For a while, the white rock didn’t notice anything else, and wondered where she had gone. It took him a while to notice heat and restriction on his surface, and then some time to guess what she was doing. Finally he figured it was the same as she had done before, when he’d set fire the first time - she’d fed the grass to make the fire rise higher, and this could be similar.
A stubborn thought surfaced. Beneath the surface, where hopefully she would not see, the rock grew roots; feeding off the magical energy that he found there, he hoped to heal some of the fire damage from when he’d burned himself, and to store some energy.
The rock grew larger due to his shifting abilities and the nutrients he greedily took; snapping the grass by using his sharp rock edges and the pressure of his growth. He became the largest fire-resistant plant he knew, with a twist since could alter his body any number of ways. Now, instead of a rock, a giant Baobab grew, but with bark made of solid rock - he kept that, because he didn’t want to be hurt by fire again. The process had been deliberately slow, so that he could take up the most nutrients and magical strength while he grew, and hopefully the grass would get a little less. Emerald eyes peered from the upper half of the tree’s stem, finding the red speck in the sky easily enough.
Naturally, she stopped feeding the plants.
To the tree, nothing seemed to happen for a while.
Slowly the tree started to feel sick. He wasn’t breathing like animals would, but his leaves tried to filter the air to no avail, finding a sickness instead of the desired carbon dioxide. Leaves turning golden and dry, he had to let them go. Now he was glad to have taken the magical energy previously. He knew that he had to shift soon - any simmering ember could flare those leaves too easily for him to stay a tree safely, however much he was fire-resistant.
He considered his options - to avoid the sickness, he would be best off being something inanimate, but that ultimately hindered his movement, thinking, and the battle as a whole. Besides, he’d been a rock already. That meant he needed to be something that could resist the sickness for long enough to survive this horror.
The tree was replaced by a towering golden dragon, keeping the size. Not because he wanted to breathe fire at her -he looked at her defiantly and didn’t-, but the creatures are naturally resistant to magic (perhaps disease too?) and heat. Flying upwards immediately, the dragon’s wings stirred up the ground, embers, and airborne disease below. Yet he already found his head spinning and a couch itching in his throat, and knew it wouldn’t be long before he would come down one way or the other. And he didn't want to land on his still-sore legs.
He knew this sickness now. He’d had it before, and he'd drank the Cure. It was that same magic that gave him the ability to change, that had negated his sickness, and now Noah had him sick all over again, if temporary (oh, how he hoped it’d be temporary). Such meanness was unexpected coming from her - and possibly made his shifting less predictable. He'd have to shift while he could.
He beat his wings thrice. Up, up, up - and then he coughed, and a peregrine falcon chased the mare through the sky. In dive, he would be faster than any other bird - faster than a pegasus. Speed was the only thing that could save him from getting too sick to fight her.
Another cough. He became as tiny as he could think of.
The flea used his previous momentum to try and land on the coat before him, hoping to bite her and transmit whatever disease she had given him to force her to heal both - if he could catch it, she might, too. And if she was resistant, a drop of her blood might be enough to aid him in some way.
It would only itch.