The dark form of a black dragon blots out the sun as it circles. He needed a place to land despite the tightness in his joints but not just any place would accommodate his form. Annoyed, black smoke seeps from his nostrils till white eyes spy a green spot for his decent.
Eased with time and familiarity in his body, the black dragon hits the wet soil with a thud, long nails digging deep into the earth, scarring it. Lior shakes out his wings and exhales another noxious cloud before he takes his first steps, each footfall changing him into his natural form, a dark dragon to that of a gunmetal stallion.
This world is unlike the one he has left. It lay flayed as a butchered lamb, of strained bleating to fall upon deadened ears, the light dimming in wet black eyes. The great beast of legend and lore, the father of dragons, splits grasses to seek his first son in his making. There is a hunger to nourish that can only be sated in the presence of his progeny.
Sunlight glints upon the silver-blue gunmetal skin that swathes his heavy bones. It teases and threatens to bleach his thickly muscled hips but even the sun dared not to toy with one that should wield it’s force. Wide feet fall heavily with the burden of his weight as white eyes seek his child-king’s face. How much time has past? Would he recognize his boy?
Lior breathes heavily as summer humidity lines his lungs, picking away the crust of salt that whispers a lullaby of a life departed. Sweet Nayl, his goddess, his iron queen, the love of his existence, has been left in the sanctuary of their quiet cliffs so Lior may seek his son.
The length of his hair hangs thickly upon his neck and haunches but now time has woven strands of silver throughout the gnarled snags that lock his hair in a tangle of disarray. The man has no time to groom nor care. His life’s meaning is for the care and protection of his family that he hold vastly close. Wings of sleek inky leather lay upon his spine, folded carefully. If nature bender to his will, ice and frost would form upon the very ground he stood.
Lior looks onward, scenting, Castile was close here. The male knew Loess well...his willful and wild daughter Isobell had made a home with the kelpie king once. Stillwater has thought tempt his wife away with promises of love and passion in the ponds long before that. Foolish creature.
Buzzing thoughts are quelled though they remain sweet as he thought of his Nayl. Beautiful, vengeful, perfect. His lips still tingled when he has kissed her long and hard before he left the warmth of her side to find Castile. Her scent cling to his skin and he would lavish in sweet dreams of his woman when he slept tonight but for now he must find his dragon son, hold him, be with him in this ragged, blood clotted sore of a time.
but i can still remember just the way you taste