There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye. (Scorch, any)

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The young girl’s golden eyes flash, though with which emotion Scorch knows not. Unlike Rhy with her newfound empathy, the Khaleesi will never be a mind-reader, of any of their ilk. Only the barest form of empathy belongs to the rat-horse, taught to her by Kagerou, and maintained by conversing with Malka. Before them, the woman knew not the importance of others’ emotions, or how vital it is to be able to read them. The tilt of the young girl’s head and the boldness of her gaze means curiosity dwells within her, perhaps more. This, Scorch could derive; of much else, words were needed for clarity.

“Joscelin,” She tries the name out coolly, watching the shattered girl stand confidently within the borders. “You were sent here, I gather; and you smell of the Dale. Has Tiphon something to say?” Her words are nonjudgmental, but firm nonetheless. She sees the truth in the girl's bold eyes, and trusts that to guide their conversation.

Stepping closer, Scorch glances towards the thick canopy, and the clouds peering through above. While the flashing was pretty, in this ill-lit scene, it also disoriented her dragon-eyes. Drawing on her twilight manipulation, Scorch bends the darkness into a pleasant middle-ground where the flashing no longer caused her head to hurt. She smiles slightly.

“Has my daughter Ea made it there safely? And the boy Dalten, too?” She asks after a pause, tone lighter than before, though equally husky. If this girl come from whence she smelt, she ought to know. While Scorch may not be the Best Mother of the Decade, some small parts of her yearned for her children’s safety. Nine child-births later, and she has learned a thing or two; but don’t hold her to being magnificent at the whole ordeal. Gazing down at the girl, the hardness remains behind her colourful eyes, as though the thoughts behind them are barricaded in, never to be released.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle