02-10-2019, 09:05 AM
After so many years stalking his grandson, Wyrm feels acutely more excited about the boundary he’s going to break today than Pteron might ever realize. He’d spent days, nights, weeks and now years watching in on the little threads Wolfbane had woven about him, getting to know the family who never knew him. When Heartfire had begun to add herself into the mix he knew there wasn’t much point in staying hidden any longer.
Soon the vision of his future would align, and Wyrm would have his desires met.
What to do with the boy’s boy, though? His birth had been a hiccup - unexpected, like the coupling of Bane and Lepis. For a few months the shape-shifter actually felt that his chance for redemption had eclipsed and that Pteron’s birth spelled inevitable doom, but those worries faded away.
Wolfbane was the goal; Pteron was simply means to an end.
With claws gripping a rough branch in the heart of the Forest, Wyrm (fashioning himself into the body of an eagle) spread apart two great wings and shot up from his perch, out into the empty sky. He saw nothing plainly, couldn’t feel the wind sting his eyeless sockets, but he certainly could transform his throat and did so, chittering away to echolocate taller objects as he coasted above them.
When he reaches the southern lands, the eagle slows and descends atop the plains of Loess. Touching down, his wings fold and shrink away to form fore paws, the talons beneath him shifting back under his belly to make a matching pair of brown swirled, faintly sandy hind paws. Now he’s become a coyote, thin and wiry, padding along sightlessly through the cold wasteland. To help him search, the shifter continues to chitter now and then, trotting swiftly through all manner of bush and plant before stopping to lift his narrow head, flick wide, satellite ears and chit chit to get another picture.
At last, a distinctly equine smell hovers yards away and Wyrm draws himself to an abrupt halt. “Is anyone there?!” He rattles out, coughing afterwards from pure exhaustion. For now it suits him to play the part of a blind, lost wanderer. “I’m terribly confused!” He tries again, “Won’t someone help?”
@[Pteron]
Soon the vision of his future would align, and Wyrm would have his desires met.
What to do with the boy’s boy, though? His birth had been a hiccup - unexpected, like the coupling of Bane and Lepis. For a few months the shape-shifter actually felt that his chance for redemption had eclipsed and that Pteron’s birth spelled inevitable doom, but those worries faded away.
Wolfbane was the goal; Pteron was simply means to an end.
With claws gripping a rough branch in the heart of the Forest, Wyrm (fashioning himself into the body of an eagle) spread apart two great wings and shot up from his perch, out into the empty sky. He saw nothing plainly, couldn’t feel the wind sting his eyeless sockets, but he certainly could transform his throat and did so, chittering away to echolocate taller objects as he coasted above them.
When he reaches the southern lands, the eagle slows and descends atop the plains of Loess. Touching down, his wings fold and shrink away to form fore paws, the talons beneath him shifting back under his belly to make a matching pair of brown swirled, faintly sandy hind paws. Now he’s become a coyote, thin and wiry, padding along sightlessly through the cold wasteland. To help him search, the shifter continues to chitter now and then, trotting swiftly through all manner of bush and plant before stopping to lift his narrow head, flick wide, satellite ears and chit chit to get another picture.
At last, a distinctly equine smell hovers yards away and Wyrm draws himself to an abrupt halt. “Is anyone there?!” He rattles out, coughing afterwards from pure exhaustion. For now it suits him to play the part of a blind, lost wanderer. “I’m terribly confused!” He tries again, “Won’t someone help?”
@[Pteron]