The island is dying, she can feel it in the earth like a lion might. Fable can feel it in the tremors of the sea, the way sharks streak by him driven on not by the terror of a dragon in the sea but by fear. They can both taste in the air, the way it tastes black even when it should be colorless.
And she knows she was supposed to be home in her castle with her children waiting to be home.
She knows she shouldn't be here where the end of one world is meeting another.
But she's glad she is when the bridge starts to buck like a willow branch in a storm. She's glad she has all this wanting magic in her blood (and all this terrible rage, rage enough to kill all the gods). Fable takes to the sky with a bellow, plucking falling horses out of the sea and the air over and over again. He hardly lands to drop them on the shore before taking off after another.
And Isra is there on the end of the bridge with fury in her eyes and god-magic in her blood. She's bellowing at the bridge and fighting with it to become daisies and soft bluegrass and ivy thick enough to walk on. It's fighting hard and fast but then so is she. Surely she has more anger than the island, more motivation not to break and sink back into the sea.
The island roars like the volcano did not too long ago, and Isra roars back.
Not this time, she says with the lash of magic and the gnash of her teeth. Fable with his massive wings echoes back in the same monstrous sound, never again
STAFF EDIT***
@Isra has rolled a 2! They have been awarded +250 signos.
