Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
Terrastellan skies are beautiful, and Terrastellan updrafts are kind,
Terrastellan women are lovely, and Terrastellan boys are just fine.
Terrastella, she sighs long and soft, Terrastella she’s a sight to see,
Terrastella, Terrastella, she holds me aloft,
Terrastella, she sings me to sleep.
Despite whatever reputation the Kingdom of Dusk may have for kindly ways and the healing arts, not many spoke on the quality of the nation’s booze. Dipping and wheeling over the sea, great black tipped wings spread wide, Raglan hummed the song he had learned while swaying shoulder to shoulder with a crewfull of drunken sailors. With the capitol proper standing only a stones throw from a shipyard, an equine would be hard pressed to turn a blind eye to the many taverns and pubs littering the lower districts.
Only a few streets from bustling squares and quaint cafes, one could find an almost endearingly seedy bar. Indeed, the inn that Raglan had wandered into mere hours before was complete with sticky tables and the stench of ale so old, it had began to ferment once more in the crevasses where it had been spilled. It hadn’t taken long before the Silvertongue had made fast friends with the bunch of seafarers haunting the booths and found himself sloshing ale and slurring songs with the best of them.
So here he was, generously tipsy with legs soaked in salt spray as he flew over the jagged cliffside and raging waters, dancing over the sunset rays like a child. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt such ease, and part of him prayed he was not merely intoxicated by ale, but was drunk off contentment as well.
Terrastellan waters are plentiful, and Terrastellan shores do gleam,
Terrastellan drink is lustful, and Terrastellan drunks do lean,
Terrastella, she fills my sails, and Terrastella my ship does keep,
Ho, ho, Terrastella! Terrastella sings me to sleep.
She’s a sight to see, Terrastella, and Terrastella sings me to sleep.
"Talk"
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