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Don’t lock your knees, he reminds himself again, watching with increasing trepidation as the scales run a short color scale before going charcoal. The color of burned things, he thinks with a gulp, leaning away from the stranger as far as he can without actually moving his feet. The thing’s words vibrate in his chest and he winces, squinting one eye open. The first thing he sees is teeth, upside down and bared in a grotesque smile-like shape. “Third, actually,” he growls, forcing both eyes open to glare at the smug creature and wiping the tremor from his voice. He’s seen this before in nature, the way the cats torture their prey. He cannot help but flinch when the thing flips right side up, and he snorts, lashing his tail and stamping a hoof in agitation, a unique blend of cowardice and bravery.
It stares at him then, for longer than Meyer thinks is polite, and his teeth clench together as he tries to subtly shift his weight. His shoulders itch something fierce, the skin across his back burning and uncomfortable … The dragon’s sudden motion makes him jump, and he skitters to the side with another snort and gnashing of his teeth. It wants him to do what?
After a minute of contemplation - a minute that seems to drag on for forever - Meyer figures he is best off doing as he's asked for now, and sidles closer to the beast. He tries to swallow, his throat sticking together. Rather than reaching up with his teeth, as he’s seen one horse groom another, it’s instead his instinct (for a reason that is about to become apparent to him) to reach up with a foreleg to scratch the scaled neck. He goes stiff at the sight of the scaled, taloned forearm that’s now where his black-socked foreleg used to be. The dragon's paw - his paw! - opens and closes, and he's frozen in horror. Run through with fright and fury, his wide eyes roll to meet larger ones. “Wait, I don’t want to be a dragon,” he says, and now he cannot help that his voice goes a bit higher, fear twining the chords. “Stop it,” demands, and please he thinks, forcing as much authority as he can muster into his young voice.
It stares at him then, for longer than Meyer thinks is polite, and his teeth clench together as he tries to subtly shift his weight. His shoulders itch something fierce, the skin across his back burning and uncomfortable … The dragon’s sudden motion makes him jump, and he skitters to the side with another snort and gnashing of his teeth. It wants him to do what?
After a minute of contemplation - a minute that seems to drag on for forever - Meyer figures he is best off doing as he's asked for now, and sidles closer to the beast. He tries to swallow, his throat sticking together. Rather than reaching up with his teeth, as he’s seen one horse groom another, it’s instead his instinct (for a reason that is about to become apparent to him) to reach up with a foreleg to scratch the scaled neck. He goes stiff at the sight of the scaled, taloned forearm that’s now where his black-socked foreleg used to be. The dragon's paw - his paw! - opens and closes, and he's frozen in horror. Run through with fright and fury, his wide eyes roll to meet larger ones. “Wait, I don’t want to be a dragon,” he says, and now he cannot help that his voice goes a bit higher, fear twining the chords. “Stop it,” demands, and please he thinks, forcing as much authority as he can muster into his young voice.
@Roué