AND ABANDON, THAT GREETS YOU IN THE NIGHT WITH SNAKE EYES, THE MOST PRECIOUS KIND.
Curiosity is a devilish little thing. It curls at the recesses of one’s mind, pokes and prods until suddenly you find yourself driven mad and consumed by it. Wyrm finds that curiosity consumes him at this very moment, or else he wouldn’t be standing at what seems to be the edge of the world. The ground beneath him is baked into hard, cracked sections that only disintegrate into sand further on. As far as his hooves go, they’ll do the job for now. The heat, however, is unbearable. All semblance of clouds have cleared from the sky; the rainy season gone with them - his dark green coat is no good for this climate. Panting softly, the colt thinks: “Cold-blooded would be best.” and shifts to a lizard, ungainly spikes protruding from his head and back like fearsome horns. He’d seen the tiny creature scurry under a rock on his way here and he’d rather liked the look of it.
The small size won’t do though, so he makes himself comparably as big as a medium dog. There, now he won’t be missed. But he’s meeting someone, or rather, someones, so the scales glint softly as they fade from brown to his trademark emerald. Perfect. With a pleased grin he waits, soaking in the now pleasant energy from the sun while he wonders what’s taking his companions so long. Eagerness gets the better of him often and he finds that paltry virtues such as patience are unnecessary. The two others he’d met in his wanderings had been talking about some very unusual artifacts just shy of the oasis in the Deserts. Bones of some sort, left by a creature that roamed the earth long before the horses of Beqanna came to inhabit it.
Wyrm had been hooked, and though he knew himself incapable of shifting into the dragons he’d heard of from his father’s stories, (he’d tried in vain so many, many times) he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had the chance to view the bones himself, he could make the shift. They had been real once, so why not again? The problem was that he needed a guide, so he’d wormed his way into conversation and made plans to meet them here to go on a little adventure of their own. Now if they would only hurry up …
The small size won’t do though, so he makes himself comparably as big as a medium dog. There, now he won’t be missed. But he’s meeting someone, or rather, someones, so the scales glint softly as they fade from brown to his trademark emerald. Perfect. With a pleased grin he waits, soaking in the now pleasant energy from the sun while he wonders what’s taking his companions so long. Eagerness gets the better of him often and he finds that paltry virtues such as patience are unnecessary. The two others he’d met in his wanderings had been talking about some very unusual artifacts just shy of the oasis in the Deserts. Bones of some sort, left by a creature that roamed the earth long before the horses of Beqanna came to inhabit it.
Wyrm had been hooked, and though he knew himself incapable of shifting into the dragons he’d heard of from his father’s stories, (he’d tried in vain so many, many times) he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had the chance to view the bones himself, he could make the shift. They had been real once, so why not again? The problem was that he needed a guide, so he’d wormed his way into conversation and made plans to meet them here to go on a little adventure of their own. Now if they would only hurry up …
@[Heartfire]
@[Ephrelle]