deep in my bones i can feel you [Spyndle]

[Killdare]

no matter what we breed we still are made of greed

By now he’s sure he’s imagined her scent, the faintest of its aroma filling his nostrils. All has gone quiet in the wood as her names leaves his sooty lips, a spell, an enchantment to make her real. His glassy eyes close, pushing him into darkness where he can focus on his surroundings, so he can say a silent prayer to the Gods he isn’t sure are real.

What is real anymore? His life felt like an awful dream sometimes, things that they call ‘nightmares’. Had he deserved it? Probably, he’s done little good in the world, he has no ambition to bring goodness to it either. What was that saying? Birds of a feather..?

His name falls from the forest to this dream, the witchery he has surely called to the place of limb and bough.

Killdare.

He’s sure this is all part of the mind trick he felt half asleep in, but then the rustle of twigs, the snap of sticks tells him it is not. That this is too real to be a figment, that spectres do not cause such corporeal noise and movement. Still the shadows cover her, nature’s camouflage still hinders his sight, if nothing else he can smell her better. A few rigid steps in the direction of the call until he is inhaling fiercely a spot of greenery, until his breath falls hot into the tangle of brush, vine, the like...

So soft did she speak it, so uncertain did his name proceed from her lungs that he can barely taste it in the air anymore. “I’m here.” his own speech clawing to reach her, forcefully pulling into reality that he finds it more guttural than he had intended it to be. Nor do his intentions give warning as his giant head breaks the surface of cover, breaches the depths within to brush against something warm and familiar.

KILLDARE

this is my kingdom come

The Dragon Lord & Colonel of the Chamber