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He rarely walks; he marches, like a soldier going to war. He cares little if his relentless pace troubles his son - the boy will have to learn to cope with it, or get left behind. Cynder flies above, seizing any opportunity to stretch her wings - their forced captivity beneath the soil troubles her far more than it does him, and she eagerly snatches at any chance to soar as she was created to do. She avoids the snow - not wanting to risk it extinguishing her tail - and instead flies so high she appears as nothing more than a dot. Their mental bond is strained at such distance, and Tyradon finds it rather unsettling, but he leaves her to her fun - it is quite rare these days, after all.
Finally they reach the caves, and the beast casts a glance behind him at Farkas. He looks reluctant to enter, and the leviathan allows his expression to momentarily soften before quickly turning harsh again - he can have no room for sentiment, but he can understand the youngster's dislike of such confined quarters. It kills the warlord, too, to be so close to members of the other species, to be forced to live alongside them like a peasant - their stench is everywhere, like poison in his nostrils. "This is only temporary, son. The darkness will lift one day - and if it doesn't, I will make it." He did have every intention of gathering an army to chase away the wraiths and open Helovia up again, but he got rather sidetracked with his plans with Confutatis. Ah, yes, those plans - he had promised to give his son more information once they were safely in the caverns, but he has a few questions of his own, first. He can feel Cynder getting closer and closer until eventually she bursts through the cave entrance to land on her bonded's back, as eager as him to learn Farkas' story. "You never did tell me - where have you been since...everything happened?" He is talking, of course, of the war, and of the unicorn that stole his magic and his dragon's maturity. |
[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]
