Pteron had shaken off his mother’s offer of a romantic arrangement, but he remembers it suddenly as Reia stands in front of him. She’d been one of the possibilities, but Pteron had scoffed, thinking he’d rather marry a hot spring than the dragon girl. He’s still not entirely sure he wouldn’t, especially with the way his breath catches in his throat during the silence she allows to grow between them. It is an uncomfortable sensation, and though he can see the wings curling deliberately to her sides from his peripheral vision, that does nothing to soothe him. She might be preparing to pounce, his subconscious prey-mind tells him, perhaps he should flare his own in response: as a threat or even a means of escape.
When she lunges forward his worry is confirmed, and he takes a sharp breath as he teeth click shut against him.
There’s no blood, no rending of flesh, and yet his heart had already sped away in anticipation, and the adrenaline is thrumming through his young veins. She turns her back to dart away, with laughing words spoken over her shoulder, as though he needs the reminder that she is no dainty little princess. Well, perhaps not the first two, but still the third, and he is just old enough that the fact tempers his behavior. He might have lunged after her otherwise, chivvying her scales with a nip of his own.
Despite his ignorance of her aunt and his recent comparison of Reia to a lizard, he has still placed the Loessian girl on a pedestal slightly above himself. Her added height hasn’t made her bites sting any less, but Pteron is a hopeful creature. Reia might not be fond of formalities, but Pteron is quite determined to use them as a shield. With them, he might be able to keep her teeth and fire at bay, and perhaps even avoid the paternal fury that would surely reign down were Castile aware of the thoughts that Pteron was having as the golden princess smiles coyly up at him.
‘Are you saying I’m prettier now?’ she asks, and he blinks his olive eyes and realizes that he’s trapped himself – or perhaps that she has trapped him. Definitely the second, he thinks as she steps closer. Can she hear his heart racing, he wonders, does she see the roll of his eye as he tries to decide if she’s about to spit fire? Yes, he decides, yes: and she is probably enjoying it as well if her smile as she reaches out to brush her nose against his is any indication.
There are no teeth and no flames, yet Pteron’s speeding heart now seems locked somewhere half-way up his throat, a rapid thrumming that is surely audible.
He is rarely lost for words, but being accused of courting and complimenting is nearly as terrifying as the possibility of being roasted and eaten alone, and so he simply stammers something that sounds like: “I...you, I’m not...I didn’t.” A bolder boy might have hidden his nerves by pressing his mouth back against hers like Pteron suddenly realizes he wants to, but instead he flounders and says: “I can’t court you.”, while thinking: You would eat me. Your father would eat me. I am not ready to be eaten.
When she lunges forward his worry is confirmed, and he takes a sharp breath as he teeth click shut against him.
There’s no blood, no rending of flesh, and yet his heart had already sped away in anticipation, and the adrenaline is thrumming through his young veins. She turns her back to dart away, with laughing words spoken over her shoulder, as though he needs the reminder that she is no dainty little princess. Well, perhaps not the first two, but still the third, and he is just old enough that the fact tempers his behavior. He might have lunged after her otherwise, chivvying her scales with a nip of his own.
Despite his ignorance of her aunt and his recent comparison of Reia to a lizard, he has still placed the Loessian girl on a pedestal slightly above himself. Her added height hasn’t made her bites sting any less, but Pteron is a hopeful creature. Reia might not be fond of formalities, but Pteron is quite determined to use them as a shield. With them, he might be able to keep her teeth and fire at bay, and perhaps even avoid the paternal fury that would surely reign down were Castile aware of the thoughts that Pteron was having as the golden princess smiles coyly up at him.
‘Are you saying I’m prettier now?’ she asks, and he blinks his olive eyes and realizes that he’s trapped himself – or perhaps that she has trapped him. Definitely the second, he thinks as she steps closer. Can she hear his heart racing, he wonders, does she see the roll of his eye as he tries to decide if she’s about to spit fire? Yes, he decides, yes: and she is probably enjoying it as well if her smile as she reaches out to brush her nose against his is any indication.
There are no teeth and no flames, yet Pteron’s speeding heart now seems locked somewhere half-way up his throat, a rapid thrumming that is surely audible.
He is rarely lost for words, but being accused of courting and complimenting is nearly as terrifying as the possibility of being roasted and eaten alone, and so he simply stammers something that sounds like: “I...you, I’m not...I didn’t.” A bolder boy might have hidden his nerves by pressing his mouth back against hers like Pteron suddenly realizes he wants to, but instead he flounders and says: “I can’t court you.”, while thinking: You would eat me. Your father would eat me. I am not ready to be eaten.