Nymeria

- the raven casts the longest shadow -

The sun disappeared, leaving only shadows in its wake.

A gale rustled through the trees—branches clipping against one another in bewildered haste, discarded snow slithering and thumping onto yet more snow—and roaring over all the commotion were wingbeats. The rhythm, deep, mighty, and vast, pounded itself into her heartbeat, thundered through her head. It was all-encompassing and utterly demanding, feral and captivating. It rattled her bones, it burned through her brain, and it obliterated all thought to leave only a primal and miserly fear behind. It took a long moment for her eyes to turn upwards—and a longer moment yet to decipher the spread of dark wings and the sinuous curves of... of... a dragon.

No, Lilómiel told her, soothing and steady. I recognize them. No harm. The wolf turned to look at him incredulously; he fluffed out his feathers, riding the hot tub's curlicue steam upwards. A memory of bronze wings and gold horns shivered through her head at his initiative, but Nymeria, uncertain, took another step back towards the edge of the clearing.

The earth seemed to shake as the holy creature landed; Nym, wary and fearful, watched enormous claws puncture snow and soil. There was another final, furious gust as the dragon's bi-colored wings swept closed to line graceful flanks. (Its wake left Nym's mane tousled and her mouth slightly slack with awe.) Then she recomposed herself (dripping lines of a courteous smile and friendly expression coming over her face) and faced the dragon. The skin, although armored in hardened scales rather than equine flesh, was marked with familiar patterns.

It was kis holló. The dragon's horns, wings, and even legs still retained a resemblence to the Storyteller... Nymeria found she wasn't entirely surprised. If anyone would wear a dragon's skin in their spare time, it would be the tribrid giant.

Nym dimly recognized the dragon's Isopia's greeting as it reverberated through Lilómiel's bond to her—she also recognized it was not for her. Both flustered and excited by Isopia's careful greeting, Lilómiel chirped his own gleeful (but nevertheless respectful) response; and then the little dimwit fluttered away from the hot tub, aiming to perch on the mother dragon Isopia's spine.

Her reprimands dried up in her mouth as she faced off to the dragon. It was impossible to look away from Isopia's mesmerizing gold eyes... and not only that, Nymeria didn't even know whether Isopia was a dragon or a horse. Both forms had similar markings, sizes, wings and horns and eyes... Nym had never seen a wild dragon before; she didn't know whether they followed the class system of her own companion. (Nor would it matter. A dragon was still a dragon, regardless of black or blue or green or red.) And yet this dragon... Nym's ears flutter back.

The voice was the same.
(Her skin crawled. What kind of power did that take?)

"I wasn't looking for you," Nym said truthfully. "I just wanted to know what was in here."
She turned her head, letting her gaze run over the unusual landscaping; she hesitated.

"Are you a dragon or a horse?"