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Private  - a dragon full of worry and fear--

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Played by Offline nestle [PM] Posts: 249 — Threads: 32
Signos: 565
Night Court Sovereign
Female [she/her/hers] // 6 [Year 497 Winter] // 15.1 hh // Hth: 30 — Atk: 30 — Exp: 66 // Active Magic: Transformation // Bonded: Fable (Sea Dragon)

Fable who is full of worry
able only knows fear and purpose as he flies. He wishes he was full-grown with wings that could span miles in just a few beats. He wants to be large, large enough to carry away Isra when she's in trouble (instead of being sent away to find help).

He wants to be a hero, instead of a dragon that was too late to save his unicorn.

All he has to guide him, once the poison in Isra's veins leave only dark, heavy silence between them, are the memories he has from her dreams. Although she thought of the gray stallion in more than dreams. Really she thought of the stallion almost constantly but he doesn't want to remember that, dragons are always a little jealous after-all (and the young ones can be full of envy).

Isra should have been his first. 

But now the stallion is one of his only hopes. He thinks she remembers her calling him Eik but in his youthful envy he didn't try very hard to remember.

Just as he's about to loop over the meadows once more, a gleam of light by the distant lake catches his eyes. It looks like something just out of place enough to make him chant in his head, Isra, Isra, Isra. His wings are tired but they carry him as quick as the wind to that stained glass tree.

Below it, through the glass, there is a blot of gray and black.

Fable dives and when he lands there is only worry, hot and red blazing like a fire in his mind. And under that is the thought of a mountain, looming far above the others. 

@Eik | "speaks" | notes: a very worried Fable has arrived


Played by Offline Rae [PM] Posts: 239 — Threads: 34
Signos: 3,180
Day Court Outcast
Male [He/Him/His] // 11 [Year 493 Spring] // 15.3 hh // Hth: 27 — Atk: 33 — Exp: 59 // Active Magic: Telepathy // Bonded: N/A

he remembers what god whispered into his ribs--

There is an undercurrent that flows from mind to mind. It flows through every living thing, man to bird to tree, weaving a network of thoughts. The funny thing is, each thinks itself an island. they have no idea.

It would be easier for the grey man, to be an island. He would know so much less of love and kindness and beauty, but he also would not know what their loss feels like-- what it looks like, that dark paper-thin shape of something so dear and so gone.

(Isra is gone)

But no one is an island, especially not Eik.

He is at the dreaming tree, hoping to smell clover and lavender and the crushed-snow smell of the woman he fell helplessly in love with. But the air is too thick with the tired smell of bonfires that have burnt themselves out. Even the mud that they had sunk into, (the humblest of beds for the tenderest of loves) even the mud just smells like ash.

(The world is falling apart.)

The glass leaves ring against each other sadly. Sad sounds often made him feel better. Nothing sadistic about it, just... a comfort in knowing that even the trees are sad sometimes, too. A hint at the warm undercurrent that swells beneath all living things. Today the sound of glass on glass just makes him more restless. It sounds like the way his chest feels, like an empty thing dissatisfied with the mere memory of fullness.

(Isra is gone, the world is falling apart, and there's nothing he can do.)

A dragon arrives, and Eik is ready for a fight. He stands before the stained glass with a wide stance. Unarmed but dangerous, entire body tense and ready to charge should the beast threaten to even touch the tree. (himself he is not worried about. It is nonsensical; grief and rage will do that) But the beast does not touch the tree.

He has talked to crows before, and briefly to a very sassy seagull, but a dragon's mind is a different thing altogether. Dragons are an ancient race, one of the oldest if the books are to be believed, and when Eik reaches into the dragon's mind he does not discern words as he had with his avian friends. What he does get is an eruption of worry to rival his own, and the image of a mountain.


His heart beats-- when had it forgotten to?-- and he blinks, and he does not understand what is happening but he opens himself to the dragon. His rage and his grief and his love, it all burns white-hot like the creation of a star. "Please," he begs, even knowing it is not necessary to beg, for he is powerless to do anything else. His is a want so immense it cannot be further humbled. "Show me the way."

I love Fable. Have I told you I love him? Because I love him, a lot.
(also, no pressure to reply unless you feel so inclined!)

Time makes fools of us all

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