CASIMIRA
dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah
She had forgotten how warm Tephra could be. After years spent living in the mountains of Hyaline, the humid jungles of the volcanic kingdom felt heavy, like a warm weight that she couldn’t quite shake. She didn’t steal away from the kingdom often—mostly because she is afraid Savior would think she is unhappy with her decision to live there again, which is not the case—but ever since she had felt the first fluttering of new life inside of her, she was certain the sun had moved closer to the earth. The only semblance of relief she could find was to leave the kingdom for a few hours in favor of a cooler climate, usually favoring the forest.
Here, where the shadows of the trees stretched on for infinity, she could finally breathe a sigh of almost relief. Almost, because there did not seem to be anything that could displace the sorrow that rooted itself inside of her chest ever since her mother had been killed. Even though the winter air was cool against her skin—she felt a shiver travel down the length of her spine, chased by an armor of white scales—it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.
Today she had landed along the river at the northernmost part of the forest, and she cannot help but to seek out the large mountain range that she knew just beyond laid her previous home. And when she feels a pang in her chest at the thought of it it is not so much because she misses the land itself (Savior, she had learned, was home, and returning to Hyaline never crosses her mind anymore), but because she knows that inside of it is where her mother rests, guarded always by her brother’s magic.
She wonders if she will ever find it in herself to return, but because running is the only thing she has ever known, she is almost certain she will not.
Adjusting the dragon wings at her side she turns her back on the mountains, surprised at how quickly she had decided she would rather return home, heat and all. But from the corner of her eye the faint afternoon sunlight reflects off something yellow, and in a blink her ice-blue eyes shift to something sharp and draconic, piercing the dark to find what she thinks are a pair of familiar eyes. “Atrox?” she says his name softly, almost hesitantly, and she feels her chest constrict at the thought of having to face maybe the only one that could lay claim to the same grief that she was drowning under.
@atrox