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His parents grazed and groped each other somewhere near this swampy, interesting sort of place. He could smell the plant carnage, the moisture, the standing water and hear the exotic insects buzzing about – he could even see their metallic colors flashes (the dragonflies) as the darted from lily pad to lily pad in the ankle deep waters. Through the trees his could see the interesting world, now that his giant eyes have become more accustomed to the lighting outside of the womb, he’s got rather keen eyesight. He wanders away and his mother watches him go, nothing tells her not to let him explore a little, so she does. “Dresden,” His mother’s gritty voice simmers in his ears and he brattily bends them back but does not face her. “Do not go far, and scream if you’re in trouble.” He jogs away but not far, just out into the open just beyond the tree line. The warm sun smacks his dull black body and makes the patches of tiny scales across his body glimmer like he’s wet. He sniffs at the soggy ground but suddenly a voice finds his tiny ears and his attentions refocus. His bright wings twitch and his slit pupils swell, pushing the golden green to the very blackened edge of his iris’s. He can see them in the distance, a broken patterned one, her (he’s unaware she’s a her) body a blur of chocolatey brown and white legs. Another one stands there to, their eyes on an odd feature standing alone in the marshes. Blue flickers from the dark shape, Dresden’s young mind has no reference as to what it is, but senses, hopes, these bigger figures might know… Why must he know? Who knows…?
He looks over his shoulder at his parents and back to the other adults, the first he’s ever seen up close-ish. He decides it’s close enough to wander over. He moves in slowly, submissively, if you will. He keeps a cautious distance, he’s so very tiny against this foreboding landscape, and his naivety is sickly obvious. He’s merely a few months old, gangling and more curious than wise. “What is it…?” His adolescent voice his so soft, hooked in innocence as genuine as anything could be.
______________He looks over his shoulder at his parents and back to the other adults, the first he’s ever seen up close-ish. He decides it’s close enough to wander over. He moves in slowly, submissively, if you will. He keeps a cautious distance, he’s so very tiny against this foreboding landscape, and his naivety is sickly obvious. He’s merely a few months old, gangling and more curious than wise. “What is it…?” His adolescent voice his so soft, hooked in innocence as genuine as anything could be.
forgive the blandness, no stuff for him yet D:
@Vezér @Amaris
