CrownS
He is determined that he will learn how to fly before the sun sets tonight. Crowns tells himself this as he sets out across the borders of Tephra with his chin held high and his shoulders back. It’s been a while since he last tried and he’s grown taller, stronger since the day he tormented Rosebay in the meadow. He passes through the autumnal woods of Sylva, over the sweeping hills of Loess, and finally the towering trees of the forest. He feels his confidence reach a crescendo when he draws near the river that carves Beqanna in two.
Carefully, he pulls the water from its current and forms his draconic wings once more. He flexes them to test the muscles and finds them to be much more powerful than before. The gust they kick up sends the dried enter leaves skittering from him and across the river rocks before being swept into the river. Crowns draws in a deep breath and takes a few steps back as he eyes the path he intends to run. Then, he bursts forward, galloping at full speed with those wings extended.
He glides, tasting the wind beneath him, but he ultimately stumbles into a landing on the opposite bank. This meager display does not count as true flight, in his mind. A snort of frustration leaves him as he turns to face the riverbank once more. Again, then, until he manages to carry himself aloft.
The boy repeats this same process from side to side, growing more frustrated with himself each time. But he does not relent in his pursuit. Rather, he tries harder each time, beating his wings in the hopes they will lift him at long last.
Carefully, he pulls the water from its current and forms his draconic wings once more. He flexes them to test the muscles and finds them to be much more powerful than before. The gust they kick up sends the dried enter leaves skittering from him and across the river rocks before being swept into the river. Crowns draws in a deep breath and takes a few steps back as he eyes the path he intends to run. Then, he bursts forward, galloping at full speed with those wings extended.
He glides, tasting the wind beneath him, but he ultimately stumbles into a landing on the opposite bank. This meager display does not count as true flight, in his mind. A snort of frustration leaves him as he turns to face the riverbank once more. Again, then, until he manages to carry himself aloft.
The boy repeats this same process from side to side, growing more frustrated with himself each time. But he does not relent in his pursuit. Rather, he tries harder each time, beating his wings in the hopes they will lift him at long last.