CrownS
He has learned the pace of her breathing when she enters a deep sleep. Crowns lays perfectly still next to her, biding his time with wide eyes. Her scales glimmer in the dim starlight as precious gems for him to admire until he’s convinced she will not wake. His father is elsewhere, having been chased off by Sabbath as she demanded some peace and quiet for her to rest. Varick never seems demanding of her despite his eagerness to bond with his child.
Carefully, he rises up onto small hooves and heeds to call that lures him from his mother’s den. His blue eyes blink as though he might clear the dark from his vision to better see the path ahead. He has yet to learn just how to summon his gifts and delve into the serpent slumbering in his breast, otherwise he might track the magician by his warmth alone. But tonight he must stumble over gnarled roots and past hanging vines. He slips between the trees until he finds the winged man waiting for him there in the hushed jungle night.
Crowns does not know fear, at this age. Sabbath has always kept him close and invariably guarded him from whatever dangers there may be. She doesn’t even allow her own father to come too near her youngest child for fear he may not be gentle enough with the boy.
And now there is nothing urging him back as he draws near, touching his nose to Eight’s feathered wings as he explores him curiously. He turns his blue and bay face to consider the dripping wings at his sides, then back to the piper’s. Finally, he lifts his gaze and offers a gentle smile. There is nothing of his mother’s rage or snapping teeth in him. He has the fangs, certainly, and they’re there in his grin, but he is cool and calm before the stranger.
“Did you wake me up?” he asks with a tilt of his small head. “Who are you?”
Carefully, he rises up onto small hooves and heeds to call that lures him from his mother’s den. His blue eyes blink as though he might clear the dark from his vision to better see the path ahead. He has yet to learn just how to summon his gifts and delve into the serpent slumbering in his breast, otherwise he might track the magician by his warmth alone. But tonight he must stumble over gnarled roots and past hanging vines. He slips between the trees until he finds the winged man waiting for him there in the hushed jungle night.
Crowns does not know fear, at this age. Sabbath has always kept him close and invariably guarded him from whatever dangers there may be. She doesn’t even allow her own father to come too near her youngest child for fear he may not be gentle enough with the boy.
And now there is nothing urging him back as he draws near, touching his nose to Eight’s feathered wings as he explores him curiously. He turns his blue and bay face to consider the dripping wings at his sides, then back to the piper’s. Finally, he lifts his gaze and offers a gentle smile. There is nothing of his mother’s rage or snapping teeth in him. He has the fangs, certainly, and they’re there in his grin, but he is cool and calm before the stranger.
“Did you wake me up?” he asks with a tilt of his small head. “Who are you?”