[open] I'm a hunter in my own right; any

[Dracarys]

DRACARYS

I have never been nothing. I am the blood of a dragon.

Her silver-blue eyes follow along the curve and crevices of his body. She cannot help herself to explore the creature that shifts and turn in ways she has never truly known before. A curious gleam grows in her eyes as they follow along the curve of his scaled and starless skin. For a moment it is something and then next it is entirely different. Her eyes trace along his neck, watching as the tendrils (something she has never seen before) twists and turns as if they have a mind of their own. Is it even possible? She wonders for a brief moment. Her gaze then slowly drifts back to meet the eyes of the shifter as he speaks.

“It can be at times,” she says with the gleam of curiosity in her eyes still. A smile still touches the corner of her lips. It never had quite faded since she came face to face with the shapeshifter. She watches as he steps back, the strange threads of tendrils slipping into nothingness. His body twists and turns into something what others would call natural, but what was natural within Beqanna? Their land was bursting with all sorts of magic.

Even in the natural form (Was it even natural for him? She marvels) she found herself looking him over. Every part of him was perfect. It was almost unnatural how perfectly kept the color of his coat was. She could not find a blemish or marking on him.

Dracarys meets his gaze once more. “Odd?” She asks softly. But there is little incongruity in what he says. Perhaps it is because she is the daughter of someone who felt the same. The natural form they were born in was not them. It was their counterpart they felt more alive in.

He shifts again—into the form she first saw him in. Dracarys smiles more this time. She liked watching the way he his body twisted and turned. It did not bother her as much as it might another. There was simply no pain—at least she imagines it does not hurt for him. Perhaps shifters become immune to the bending of bones and ripping of flesh.

“I do not find it odd,” She finally says when she overlooks his wolfish form. There are parts of his form that remind her of her father. But it is his orange eyes that remind her the most of him. “My father is much like you. He prefers his hellhound form more than anything.” Perhaps it is the predator nature within him that chose to always be in that form. Dracarys is not certain, although she assumes maybe there is a deeper connection that swayed him closer to more of a predator than prey. Would it be wrong if she assumed the same for @[Nodens] as well? “Is this the form you prefer?” She asks with the tilt of her small-framed head to the right.

The blue girl laughs softly at the latter of his questions. “You can call me Dracarys,” she offers playfully to him. “I do have some magic. I can summon a small aura of flame around me.” Her voice then becomes a bit quieter. “Although I am not as unique as you are.” Her silver-blue gaze flickers to the mountain in the distance. “Some day I might be.” Although she hopes sooner rather than later.