02-04-2020, 02:52 PM
We got older and I should have known
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
Loess can be dangerous territory for dragons who are not Castile’s children, Leilan supposes - and so that’s a place he avoids.
Mostly. Since it’s that big spot that is the middle of freakin’ whole Beqanna.
He doesn’t cross freely; he knows perfectly well that this right has been taken from him by an uncertain combination of unnecessary forces. Nevertheless, he does know, and although from afar he is still the same - up close too, it’s just intermediate onlookers that won’t understand - he has decided he can travel through, but near the border. That is, he’s too lazy to exactly skirt around Loess entirely and precisely follow the border as it was set by scent marks; so, he doesn’t go straight through, but he doesn’t shy away from taking the easier, quicker route if it means crossing the border for a bit, either.
What can he say, he’s just passing through.
Or visiting a friend - he has one, in Loess. One friend and perhaps some family, if the spotted mare was to be believed (but he wasn’t sure about her). And since he hadn’t officially chosen a land yet, well. He couldn’t be a threat either.
The northern border where he skips by then, is a funny one. There is a rocky range here, alcoves and heights dividing the misty climate of the Taiga from the dry meditterranean one of the hill-and-cactus kingdom. There’s a shrubbery here, and a second only slightly higher so you get a two layer effect with a little path running down the middle.
Passing the shrubs, he turns towards where the eastern border is; he remembers trotting it back and forth in the weeks that he was held captive in the kingdom, although back then it did not border Hyaline, but the forest. Ah, Arthas. He wonders what the grumpy old male would have to say to him now, paying only half respect to the borders. The grey would certainly have to say something about it; Leilan would have retorted just as sharply and forgotten all about it, no doubt.
The ice-scaled roan skips his largest part of Loess in the north-east, going south-east towards the forest. The hot season no longer feels like it’s trying to melt him away, but it’s still no joy for the ice-magic based stallion to pass through deserts like these.
But he has been avoiding a political discussion with the new inhabitants of Hyaline much more than he would avoid any Loessian, and so, when he smells the cacti’s diplomat upon the wind, he doesn’t avoid a confrontation.
”Hello again.”
Mostly. Since it’s that big spot that is the middle of freakin’ whole Beqanna.
He doesn’t cross freely; he knows perfectly well that this right has been taken from him by an uncertain combination of unnecessary forces. Nevertheless, he does know, and although from afar he is still the same - up close too, it’s just intermediate onlookers that won’t understand - he has decided he can travel through, but near the border. That is, he’s too lazy to exactly skirt around Loess entirely and precisely follow the border as it was set by scent marks; so, he doesn’t go straight through, but he doesn’t shy away from taking the easier, quicker route if it means crossing the border for a bit, either.
What can he say, he’s just passing through.
Or visiting a friend - he has one, in Loess. One friend and perhaps some family, if the spotted mare was to be believed (but he wasn’t sure about her). And since he hadn’t officially chosen a land yet, well. He couldn’t be a threat either.
The northern border where he skips by then, is a funny one. There is a rocky range here, alcoves and heights dividing the misty climate of the Taiga from the dry meditterranean one of the hill-and-cactus kingdom. There’s a shrubbery here, and a second only slightly higher so you get a two layer effect with a little path running down the middle.
Passing the shrubs, he turns towards where the eastern border is; he remembers trotting it back and forth in the weeks that he was held captive in the kingdom, although back then it did not border Hyaline, but the forest. Ah, Arthas. He wonders what the grumpy old male would have to say to him now, paying only half respect to the borders. The grey would certainly have to say something about it; Leilan would have retorted just as sharply and forgotten all about it, no doubt.
The ice-scaled roan skips his largest part of Loess in the north-east, going south-east towards the forest. The hot season no longer feels like it’s trying to melt him away, but it’s still no joy for the ice-magic based stallion to pass through deserts like these.
But he has been avoiding a political discussion with the new inhabitants of Hyaline much more than he would avoid any Loessian, and so, when he smells the cacti’s diplomat upon the wind, he doesn’t avoid a confrontation.
”Hello again.”
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Oceane]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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