A Random Event Has Occurred!
The sand shakes finely against their hooves as if it is listening to the horse's words. It's afraid of the sea, of those monsters far from shore who are dragging their tails against the bottom of the ocean. Like a bird it ruffles each granule that makes it whole, as if it's not a shoreline but a set of massive wings that are dreaming of flight.
At first it starts with a quiver of sand, a tremble weak enough to be nothing more than the blood running through the horses. It shakes and it sounds like diamonds against the hard hooves of Asterion and Corrdelia. But then it starts to pull away like the horses are the shore and the sand is the sea.
The sand reforms itself into a small dragon. Each eye is a clam shell, smooth, and pale, and spinning. The dragon wears its scales made of kelp proudly. Even the childish curl of its boneless neck seems to say, am I not the loveliest shore you have ever seen?
When the dragon tries to find words, or any sound at all, only salt-water pours from its lips and makes the ground underneath its wings muddy and dark. It starts to look afraid then, as if it doesn't understand that the horses are the only real things on the island. The dragon doesn't know if it's magic, or mystery, or maybe nothing more than a salt-poison dream.
There is no heartbeat pulsing beneath its sandy, scaled chest.
It turns towards the jungle, pausing once to look at the two horses standing so closer. Something in the way those calm shell eyes pause seems to say, follow me. Then they rotate once and a kelp feathered wing brushes the muddy shore.
Follow me, the shore is not safe. The distant treeline swallows it whole.
At first it starts with a quiver of sand, a tremble weak enough to be nothing more than the blood running through the horses. It shakes and it sounds like diamonds against the hard hooves of Asterion and Corrdelia. But then it starts to pull away like the horses are the shore and the sand is the sea.
The sand reforms itself into a small dragon. Each eye is a clam shell, smooth, and pale, and spinning. The dragon wears its scales made of kelp proudly. Even the childish curl of its boneless neck seems to say, am I not the loveliest shore you have ever seen?
When the dragon tries to find words, or any sound at all, only salt-water pours from its lips and makes the ground underneath its wings muddy and dark. It starts to look afraid then, as if it doesn't understand that the horses are the only real things on the island. The dragon doesn't know if it's magic, or mystery, or maybe nothing more than a salt-poison dream.
There is no heartbeat pulsing beneath its sandy, scaled chest.
It turns towards the jungle, pausing once to look at the two horses standing so closer. Something in the way those calm shell eyes pause seems to say, follow me. Then they rotate once and a kelp feathered wing brushes the muddy shore.
Follow me, the shore is not safe. The distant treeline swallows it whole.
Will they go?
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Enjoy!
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