11-06-2021, 09:54 PM
‘Just do your best’, her mother says. ‘I’ll be there to protect you’.
Myrna nods, because she knows that is true. Her mother will always be there to keep her safe from danger. That Myrna has not been told about the danger has not yet occured to the dark-eyed filly, so she only nods soberly.
“Yes Mama.” She says firmly. “I’ll listen. I will.”
Fire is dangerous, that much Malik had managed to impart upon her. But she is sure that her healing could handle it, and she is eager to try. Not today, she reminds herself, but maybe someday soon, especially if she can show her mother how good she is at following the rules.
The scales along Myrna’s sides shimmer with the same opalescence as her spiraling horns, which are most impressive on a dragon even at her young age. They spiral like Mazikeen’s and fork near the ends, reflecting the bright sunlight as she scampers after her mother.
While her wings are not yet strong enough to bear her in flight, they do keep the pale filly from sinking too far into the snow, as does the way she widens and then furs her clawed feet to more resemble those of the quick snowshoe hare. Myrna had not realized that she knew such a trick, but finds it as fascinating and far more helpful than the ability to transfigure herself into bits of flower, so she shows her mother proudly on their way toward the pines.
Once there, she begins to inspect the pines. She yips with a coyote’s bark and turns away from those with nests that quiver in fear. Finally she puts her forefeet on a large and nearly dead tree, one absent of larger animals.
“This one?” She asks, her voice rising in curiosity. She’s not picked a burning tree before, and she hopes that this will be the first of many. Maybe if she tells Malik that Mama had let her do it, he’d be less reluctant to take her. First though, she has to start the fire.
Myrna clears her throat, just to warm up, and beams proudly at the tiny puff of black smoke that spirals from her pale nostrils.
Myrna nods, because she knows that is true. Her mother will always be there to keep her safe from danger. That Myrna has not been told about the danger has not yet occured to the dark-eyed filly, so she only nods soberly.
“Yes Mama.” She says firmly. “I’ll listen. I will.”
Fire is dangerous, that much Malik had managed to impart upon her. But she is sure that her healing could handle it, and she is eager to try. Not today, she reminds herself, but maybe someday soon, especially if she can show her mother how good she is at following the rules.
The scales along Myrna’s sides shimmer with the same opalescence as her spiraling horns, which are most impressive on a dragon even at her young age. They spiral like Mazikeen’s and fork near the ends, reflecting the bright sunlight as she scampers after her mother.
While her wings are not yet strong enough to bear her in flight, they do keep the pale filly from sinking too far into the snow, as does the way she widens and then furs her clawed feet to more resemble those of the quick snowshoe hare. Myrna had not realized that she knew such a trick, but finds it as fascinating and far more helpful than the ability to transfigure herself into bits of flower, so she shows her mother proudly on their way toward the pines.
Once there, she begins to inspect the pines. She yips with a coyote’s bark and turns away from those with nests that quiver in fear. Finally she puts her forefeet on a large and nearly dead tree, one absent of larger animals.
“This one?” She asks, her voice rising in curiosity. She’s not picked a burning tree before, and she hopes that this will be the first of many. Maybe if she tells Malik that Mama had let her do it, he’d be less reluctant to take her. First though, she has to start the fire.
Myrna clears her throat, just to warm up, and beams proudly at the tiny puff of black smoke that spirals from her pale nostrils.