11-21-2019, 09:06 AM
You’re uncontrollable
and we are unlovable
and we are unlovable
There is, of course, no such thing as sneaking up on a half-dragon - not when his cold resistance enables him smell where others find only snow and ice, not when this half-dragon has enhanced vision, and heat vision as well.
Sometimes he wonders if perhaps he should need better hearing, but then again, he does just fine. It’s not like he doesn’t hear anything or anyone, after all. He knows where to find the filly, knows even when her body temperature drops a little low; better attributes he could not wish for.
Had he been given the choice, perhaps he would not have kept her here. But she almost sank on that one trip to the forest, and on the way back he had carried her right across his back - had he been capable of trusting anyone still, he might have left her in some place warmer, with a family. As it was now, his year on the Isle meant a year on the Isle for her, as well. Or at least until autumn; when she was big enough, they could leave, just before winter would strike again.
It meant a lot of effort, mostly to just keep her alive, let alone teach her anything. Sometimes when she slept - and she slept a little more than most foals her age perhaps, due to the lack of warm mother’s milk and the icy circumstances that took most of her energy - he ventured out to the mainland, returning with dried fruits he’d gathered there. Most times he did not go that far, not daring to leave her when snow storms were near. They lessened with time, with spring nearing and entering the mainland, however. That’s when he was abler to find her food, be it sparse still. Tough grass, tree bark and early winter berries were her ration day in, day out - and the sharp-toothed half-dragon resorted to a more meat-based diet as opposed to a more omnivorous one, so that he would not eat anything that could have gone to her. It seemed to work, so far.
Of course, he did worry. She grew taller, but barely gained any muscle, and still her skinny frame might never reach the height it would had she had continuous access to mother’s milk and fresh spring grass. Her ribs were showing, and the lack of fat and muscle did not help her in terms of keeping warm. Tough times for a growing foal; shadows could not keep her warm, and sometimes the iced-over male wished he knew where his son was staying, the one who had been born with some kind of fire magic, glowing and warm when he needed to be. Alas, Leilan had no such skill, and thus the only thing he could think of was feed her more and have her on the move, the muscle’s friction and energy converted into a little bit of warmth whenever she would be awake.
Surviving and living were two different things, he concluded.
The girl could still barely talk; her voice was so hoarse that he simply hadn’t caught her name yet, and he didn’t pry for it, knowing she was trying. She kept a close eye on him though, perhaps too scared to end up alone to wander from his sight. She didn’t know that he saw more than the average horse, and kept him within her sight, but that was quite alright with him as well. Besides that, he was on constant alert for any sounds she did make, and so when she woke and small hooves broke the snow’s surface with a very faint creaking sound, he knew it was her. No-one else was this light-weight, after all.
His eye colour changed from light blue to molten orange as his vision changed to spot her otherwise hidden body, red-hot against the icy background of the Isle. He switched back, recognizing her crouched position, not bothered by the fact and simply waiting for her surprise.
An actual surprise was the shape and the sound of small claws on ice and dragon scales, and her different shape when she dropped into a mound of snow he’d just dug up. He’d lifted his head abruptly, his eye colour changed to a certain light yellow-ish colour, mixed from the shock of white and the readiness for battle in bright yellow. Staring at the cub, her pathetic mews were kind of laughable, and his initial shocked look and bared teeth return to normal quickly; a laugh follows as he nudges the lion cub. ”Why, you. I wish you’d shown me that trick earlier,” he tells her, amusement clear in his voice and shining green eyes. The stallion seems not at all bothered by her bodily change, instead looks over the snow-ridden Isle a moment with a now-orange gaze, then returning to the little shifter. ”Who did you say you were again? Your parents?” he wishes to know, perhaps he knows one of them. There used to be a lion-shifter in the lands, a cremello - snowflakes had marked him at the same time the ice was stuck on his own scales.
It was years ago, though. He wondered if the stallion was still in Pangea.
Sometimes he wonders if perhaps he should need better hearing, but then again, he does just fine. It’s not like he doesn’t hear anything or anyone, after all. He knows where to find the filly, knows even when her body temperature drops a little low; better attributes he could not wish for.
Had he been given the choice, perhaps he would not have kept her here. But she almost sank on that one trip to the forest, and on the way back he had carried her right across his back - had he been capable of trusting anyone still, he might have left her in some place warmer, with a family. As it was now, his year on the Isle meant a year on the Isle for her, as well. Or at least until autumn; when she was big enough, they could leave, just before winter would strike again.
It meant a lot of effort, mostly to just keep her alive, let alone teach her anything. Sometimes when she slept - and she slept a little more than most foals her age perhaps, due to the lack of warm mother’s milk and the icy circumstances that took most of her energy - he ventured out to the mainland, returning with dried fruits he’d gathered there. Most times he did not go that far, not daring to leave her when snow storms were near. They lessened with time, with spring nearing and entering the mainland, however. That’s when he was abler to find her food, be it sparse still. Tough grass, tree bark and early winter berries were her ration day in, day out - and the sharp-toothed half-dragon resorted to a more meat-based diet as opposed to a more omnivorous one, so that he would not eat anything that could have gone to her. It seemed to work, so far.
Of course, he did worry. She grew taller, but barely gained any muscle, and still her skinny frame might never reach the height it would had she had continuous access to mother’s milk and fresh spring grass. Her ribs were showing, and the lack of fat and muscle did not help her in terms of keeping warm. Tough times for a growing foal; shadows could not keep her warm, and sometimes the iced-over male wished he knew where his son was staying, the one who had been born with some kind of fire magic, glowing and warm when he needed to be. Alas, Leilan had no such skill, and thus the only thing he could think of was feed her more and have her on the move, the muscle’s friction and energy converted into a little bit of warmth whenever she would be awake.
Surviving and living were two different things, he concluded.
The girl could still barely talk; her voice was so hoarse that he simply hadn’t caught her name yet, and he didn’t pry for it, knowing she was trying. She kept a close eye on him though, perhaps too scared to end up alone to wander from his sight. She didn’t know that he saw more than the average horse, and kept him within her sight, but that was quite alright with him as well. Besides that, he was on constant alert for any sounds she did make, and so when she woke and small hooves broke the snow’s surface with a very faint creaking sound, he knew it was her. No-one else was this light-weight, after all.
His eye colour changed from light blue to molten orange as his vision changed to spot her otherwise hidden body, red-hot against the icy background of the Isle. He switched back, recognizing her crouched position, not bothered by the fact and simply waiting for her surprise.
An actual surprise was the shape and the sound of small claws on ice and dragon scales, and her different shape when she dropped into a mound of snow he’d just dug up. He’d lifted his head abruptly, his eye colour changed to a certain light yellow-ish colour, mixed from the shock of white and the readiness for battle in bright yellow. Staring at the cub, her pathetic mews were kind of laughable, and his initial shocked look and bared teeth return to normal quickly; a laugh follows as he nudges the lion cub. ”Why, you. I wish you’d shown me that trick earlier,” he tells her, amusement clear in his voice and shining green eyes. The stallion seems not at all bothered by her bodily change, instead looks over the snow-ridden Isle a moment with a now-orange gaze, then returning to the little shifter. ”Who did you say you were again? Your parents?” he wishes to know, perhaps he knows one of them. There used to be a lion-shifter in the lands, a cremello - snowflakes had marked him at the same time the ice was stuck on his own scales.
It was years ago, though. He wondered if the stallion was still in Pangea.
and I don’t want you to think that I care
I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Beryl] lol he only thinks it’s funny ofc.
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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