Wrena has never been a vessel for a greedy, kicking little shit-brat but she’s finding more and more, by the hour even, that it is dreadfully miserable business. As she flies off kilter and quite low due to her utter fatness, she ponders how she now more than ever bears absolute disdain for any dimwitted fluff headed ditz that says things like “Oh I just love being pregnant!” or, “Isn’t this a blessing?” … “..fucking idiots.” Her thoughts growl from her mouth, aloud and through clenched teeth.

The ocean toils beneath her as she dodges cresting waves with little grace. Usually she glides and cuts effortlessly through the air on her leathery wings of obsidian scales, but in these late stages of her pregnancy she is rather horrible at flying – but what a relief to her swollen ankles and sore legs. The black sea grows angrier at her, grabbing for her with white fingers lacey fingers; the thunder egging it on. A storm is moving in quickly, which normally does not phase the girl, but she knows her limits with her current disability.

She finds shore and lands with a thud, a small trot and a longwinded minute to recover herself. Rain starts in hard immediately, the air getting chillier; she stands in it, quietly bringing her heart rate down with some breathing. Whatever stamina she used to have is well gone now… she’s like a hundred year old slug at this point.

Walking deeper into the Forest, which sprawls out after the beach sands, and warming up seems like her best option for now. She cannot fly out in this shit, so staying seems likely and really, she doesn’t mind camping out to enjoy its cleansing roll through. The feel of cold rain running down her back and through her hair and streaming off of her smooth black wings was not uncomfortable feeling to her. The chill, however, seems to bother the parasite doing summersaults in her stomach. Rude.

Breathing fire is quite handy, really. She finds a suitable stone, big craggy piece of solid granite. Whn she draws in a deep and determined breath her chest begins to glow and sizzle, revealing the molten heat in her lungs. With one blow she covers the stone in bright magma-hot flame that licks over every inch of the stone until it is aglow with heat. Like an ember it stays flickering its orange-red color and Wrena settles beside it with a satisfied smirk. Better.