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
Once upon a time, there was a dragon in a forest. He’d buried himself in, waiting for the opportunity to snatch away any bypassing traveller, who might be unaware of the danger in the deep dark woods.
That was a long time ago, in a land far away.
The ice-scaled roan picks his way through the trees with little difficulty. This part of the forest, he happens to know well, because he spent a few anxious days here, trying to throw off his trail. He’d sought out this part in particular, because he did not want to be found by anyone; miniature heart attacks would otherwise follow him for days; this way, at the time none had come for him, he had a relative sort of peace.
The ice dragon doesn’t care very much for visitors in the moment either - though he wouldn’t shy away from them. He’s here because he doesn’t want to involve himself so much; a moment of reflection if you will before he dives back in again.
Of course, he’s never alone for long. Nostrils flare even before the frosted male turns to look who’s close; ice-coloured eyes scan the surrounding greenery, a white cold-induced condensation cloud barely visible from his nostrils as he does so; not strange had it been mid-winter, but perhaps now that it is mid-summer, one might see how it was a little odd - or not, depending on who they were and how observant they would be.
That was a long time ago, in a land far away.
The ice-scaled roan picks his way through the trees with little difficulty. This part of the forest, he happens to know well, because he spent a few anxious days here, trying to throw off his trail. He’d sought out this part in particular, because he did not want to be found by anyone; miniature heart attacks would otherwise follow him for days; this way, at the time none had come for him, he had a relative sort of peace.
The ice dragon doesn’t care very much for visitors in the moment either - though he wouldn’t shy away from them. He’s here because he doesn’t want to involve himself so much; a moment of reflection if you will before he dives back in again.
Of course, he’s never alone for long. Nostrils flare even before the frosted male turns to look who’s close; ice-coloured eyes scan the surrounding greenery, a white cold-induced condensation cloud barely visible from his nostrils as he does so; not strange had it been mid-winter, but perhaps now that it is mid-summer, one might see how it was a little odd - or not, depending on who they were and how observant they would be.
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
A lousy starter for whoever wants it!
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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