09-11-2020, 10:38 AM
Something is happening.
She has been guarding Brennen for a year, long enough to know by heart the way the magic washes over him, long enough that the steady thrum of it is like a second heartbeat, a second sort of breath. She knows the dark shape of him in the water, the way the shadows swirl around his legs when the tide rolls about him, the way the shadows tucked beneath his wings nestle close between his skin and those black feathers held close across his back, and because she knows these things, she knows, too, when the change comes. It's subtle, from her perch on the cliff, Beryl's coffee-brown eyes dart from the glimmering sea and back to the unmoved magician, her brow furrowing.
Everything looks the same, but it isn't. There's a change in the pattern of his magic as it runs through her, and her ears turn back, her mouth twisting into a suspicious frown. She has promised to watch over Brennen in the water, but if something has happened, something strong enough to pluck at Brennen's magic like a spider testing its silken web, then Nerine is in danger, too. A growl curls low in her throat as she turns her gaze away to the south, to Taiga where spots of smoke rise so much like fog above the wild trees. Smoke. She remembers the burning of the Isle, and the pitch of her growl heightens as dark shadows coil tight and cool, a familiar kiss on her skin. Her golden fur turns dusky, her mane nearly black and the starshine on her shoulder is obscured entirely, swallowed by the slinky darkness. Underfoot, the ground trembles, and the wind whips angrily so her mane and tail fly in the icy wind like dark banners.
dragons
A voice, whispers in her ear, dry as the smoke that grows and encroaches. Of course it's dragons, but Brennen's magic keeps their worst damage at bay for now. This settles her, she keeps her post, turning back to the sea-bound stallion as a second voice rings up in her ears. Its familiarity makes them fall flat. The golden mare knows those snakeskin tones, and she remembers that patterned skin. The painted mare has brought her more dragons.
No, Beryl thinks, I brought those ones.
A fire bursts to life. Beryl bares her teeth and shadows sleeping in the gravelly seabed awaken, rising with such speed that a wave of saltwater sprays over the magician, seeking to douse the small flame. She leaps from her cliff, dropping easily into shadow and out again, landing at the water's edge where the seawater licks at her feet.
"What are you doing here?"
Entity. A strange word, and a strange thing to be.
"Have you tired of Sochi already?"
She has been guarding Brennen for a year, long enough to know by heart the way the magic washes over him, long enough that the steady thrum of it is like a second heartbeat, a second sort of breath. She knows the dark shape of him in the water, the way the shadows swirl around his legs when the tide rolls about him, the way the shadows tucked beneath his wings nestle close between his skin and those black feathers held close across his back, and because she knows these things, she knows, too, when the change comes. It's subtle, from her perch on the cliff, Beryl's coffee-brown eyes dart from the glimmering sea and back to the unmoved magician, her brow furrowing.
Everything looks the same, but it isn't. There's a change in the pattern of his magic as it runs through her, and her ears turn back, her mouth twisting into a suspicious frown. She has promised to watch over Brennen in the water, but if something has happened, something strong enough to pluck at Brennen's magic like a spider testing its silken web, then Nerine is in danger, too. A growl curls low in her throat as she turns her gaze away to the south, to Taiga where spots of smoke rise so much like fog above the wild trees. Smoke. She remembers the burning of the Isle, and the pitch of her growl heightens as dark shadows coil tight and cool, a familiar kiss on her skin. Her golden fur turns dusky, her mane nearly black and the starshine on her shoulder is obscured entirely, swallowed by the slinky darkness. Underfoot, the ground trembles, and the wind whips angrily so her mane and tail fly in the icy wind like dark banners.
dragons
A voice, whispers in her ear, dry as the smoke that grows and encroaches. Of course it's dragons, but Brennen's magic keeps their worst damage at bay for now. This settles her, she keeps her post, turning back to the sea-bound stallion as a second voice rings up in her ears. Its familiarity makes them fall flat. The golden mare knows those snakeskin tones, and she remembers that patterned skin. The painted mare has brought her more dragons.
No, Beryl thinks, I brought those ones.
A fire bursts to life. Beryl bares her teeth and shadows sleeping in the gravelly seabed awaken, rising with such speed that a wave of saltwater sprays over the magician, seeking to douse the small flame. She leaps from her cliff, dropping easily into shadow and out again, landing at the water's edge where the seawater licks at her feet.
"What are you doing here?"
Entity. A strange word, and a strange thing to be.
"Have you tired of Sochi already?"
@[Straia]