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08-20-2016, 10:46 PM
Tallsun is his demise. The night that has sculpted his magnificent mass of war is easily crumbled by humid heat, feeling as if he is gasping for air as he breathes and desperately looking for shade and water when it comes. He hates it like he hates a large amount of things: with unbridled ferocity.
Bamboo, much to his disgust, offers him no relief. He is better off in the sun as he crosses the opening he finds himself in, mumbling out curses and swears in hungarian as he goes.
After his meeting with his father, he is now set on getting to the Throat, but in his time of wandering, having lost all sense of direction from his aimlessness when freely roaming and conquering, had brought himself to this. Hunger ebbs at him. He obliges, reaching down with teeth that aren’t made for the grass that fills up his belly, chewing idly with teeth that luckily fit his diet. Only his front teeth have been altered by unseen forces and possibly genetics, and for that he is thankful. The idea of having to stuff meat down his throat like he has seen Hobgoblin do so many times doesn’t come off as pleasing. If anything, it comes off as disgusting.
Even the thought rolls his stomach over.
His allotted time to feast is short, for his family cannot keep away from him. Luck pities him in the end course of things, but not in the way that the shadow man expects. It doesn’t just bring him his little brother, it brings him a dragon.
The sight of it doesn’t instantly strike him as Tyrath. Instead, Zhu is pulling himself high, moving his long, thick tail upwards from its limp, ground-lying position into a stance that brings the end of it coiled around, level to the base where it attached to his body. The slouch inhabiting his shoulders and spine is abandoned. He promptly rises like a mountain, like the winged and horned mare that his mother and him had encountered long ago had once done to show him just how tall she was.
It had taken his breath away and made him feel small. Now, he tries to mimic her for that same effect.
It all goes to waste quickly, eyes lighting up as the body changes as if it is Hobgoblin coming to find him, and on the other side, there he is, grown but still the same boy he had loved so dearly, spent hours playing with, swimming in the oasis and making trips to the beach with their mother’s companion to frolic about the waves and harass sting rays and what else they could discover. It lights a smile upon his face like a beacon in the dark, ears thrown to the sky as he tries to keep his joints locked into place.
He fails, letting out a joyous whinny he hopes no one else is around to capture, sprinting to his baby brother with happiness and love blooming. Oh, how happy he is to see that Tyrath is okay.
Tyrath spews forth the Helovian language like everyone else does here, reminding him of just how long he has been away from this place. It should return easily, but he is not ready to embarrass himself before his family when they can all easily speak and understand what he knows best. His brother’s words are the same ones he’s already gotten from Kid and Volterra, asking where he has gone, why he is so big, mentioning his growth and acceleration into manhood.
He cannot answer both of those questions correctly. Time has driven him to what he is now, reaching out with his mouth open slightly to gum at an ear atop the silver dragon’s head, taking great importance in assuring that the use of his teeth is withheld. The muscles in his face ache at the harshness of his smile, something that they’re not used to.
“Idő.” is what is mumbled forth at the question; there is nothing that he can give for the first one because the man doesn’t exactly know where he has been exactly. Just places without names.
He wouldn’t care about them anyway.
“Hogy vagy? Hogyan anya csinál?” Possibly it is rude to ask of her at this time, but he cannot keep himself from it. They make up the two souls that he cares for, the family that mattered must. He worries for them at every turn. “Aggódtam miattad.”
The softness of his voice dies swiftly. It doesn’t fit into the rhythm of his song well. A more playful search for skin is given as he reaches to nip a part of his brother, only intending to let his teeth graze. Anyone else, then maybe he would have let them dig.
“De én büszke vagyok rád.” It’s true. He can’t dare to bring himself to forge a lie to his little brother, yet alone forge one for any reason. Honesty is something that he stands by as manipulation and deceit is not a path designed for warriors like himself. It will do him no good.
“Mondd el, amit nem fogadott.” Eagerness collects in him with obvious display. He has missed so much with the time away from Tyrath that it almost gives him guilt. The boy is dear to him, and as his older brother, he is entitled to know everything that he can.
Idő: time.
Hogy vagy? Hogyan anya csinál?: how are you? how is mom?
Aggódtam miattad: I worried about you
De én büszke vagyok rád.: I am proud of you
Mondd el, amit nem fogadott: Tell me what I missed
