06-29-2020, 01:25 PM
As the days on the mainland grow shorter and colder, the ice dragon finds himself more territory, in a way. Space to roam, room to fly, skies carrying him and his wings to places that are almost-equally cold as his natural habitat.
Almost.
Autumn had always been his season; the color of red and brown, and perhaps a bit of white hoarfrost, and the golden last rays of sun to his skin. Nowadays of course he was naturally associated with winter, bringing ice-made scales and a breath as cold as hell (for hell holds all the extremes a body cannot muster - he’d test the theory if he ever made it to the Afterlife).
His white and silver wings fold back and disappear after his landing, and the frost-marked roan steps almost daintily through the trees, as if he’s not the worst predator around. His sharp teeth neatly concealed courtesy to the shifting abilities he now possessed, he hasn’t a care in the world where he goes.
Gazing around and grazing left and right, he makes his way from the Mountain to the southern shore, or at least that is the general idea of his trek. He never makes it, of course; finding instead two mares, one with eyes of ice blue just like his, and black as night just like his swirling leg tattoos, though his seem blacker and eating away the light surrounding them - while the other is a young filly, called Tadpole by the other, red like flame though marked with white.
As he stops, a smile creeps to his face, though it doesn’t truly reach his ice-coloured eyes. ”Even I could come up with a better nickname than that,” he comments dryly; though his tone reveals nothing, his eye color seems to change from an icy blue to an icy sea-green. He looks from one to another with his slow smile still on his face as he shrugs. ”Isn’t this neat. I found a Coal and a Spitfire.” he tilts his head at then, perking his ears, attention divided between them. He’s not gonna get any closer than this normal talking distance; pending the reaction he may have to back up a little, even, but some things just can’t be helped.
Almost.
Autumn had always been his season; the color of red and brown, and perhaps a bit of white hoarfrost, and the golden last rays of sun to his skin. Nowadays of course he was naturally associated with winter, bringing ice-made scales and a breath as cold as hell (for hell holds all the extremes a body cannot muster - he’d test the theory if he ever made it to the Afterlife).
His white and silver wings fold back and disappear after his landing, and the frost-marked roan steps almost daintily through the trees, as if he’s not the worst predator around. His sharp teeth neatly concealed courtesy to the shifting abilities he now possessed, he hasn’t a care in the world where he goes.
Gazing around and grazing left and right, he makes his way from the Mountain to the southern shore, or at least that is the general idea of his trek. He never makes it, of course; finding instead two mares, one with eyes of ice blue just like his, and black as night just like his swirling leg tattoos, though his seem blacker and eating away the light surrounding them - while the other is a young filly, called Tadpole by the other, red like flame though marked with white.
As he stops, a smile creeps to his face, though it doesn’t truly reach his ice-coloured eyes. ”Even I could come up with a better nickname than that,” he comments dryly; though his tone reveals nothing, his eye color seems to change from an icy blue to an icy sea-green. He looks from one to another with his slow smile still on his face as he shrugs. ”Isn’t this neat. I found a Coal and a Spitfire.” he tilts his head at then, perking his ears, attention divided between them. He’s not gonna get any closer than this normal talking distance; pending the reaction he may have to back up a little, even, but some things just can’t be helped.
nothing burns like the cold
Leilan
@[Tivali] @[Ethaethe]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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