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02-21-2013, 10:14 AM
 The hurrying drum of restless hooves beat against a sea of green. A worried heart beats in a spent chest - his breath comes in deep gasps, and against every whim, he trembles. High above, a dragon keens, making wide circles over the land. Where are they? "Romani! Willow!" he calls, his voice like thunder rattling against the hilly land. Today is dark, with dark clouds crowding over the Foothills like bad omens, threatening rain. The King of Thieves is near frantic, and he plunges over the fair land with keen silver eyes. The absence of his healer and loyal warrior gives him endless bother - he heads toward the hill he had been inaugurated on; it is the tallest, sloping gently onto a babbling creek with the jagged pale peaks of mountains behind. Little raindrops tatter his rippling red coat, and he stands over its flat peak , tail whisking behind him with exasperation. "Foothills!" Jackal thunders, sounding less the fraught boy he was and more the leader. "The threat of war hangs nigh over our heads! Let this be a call to arms, ere they come! Our numbers may be few, but we are bold and strong at heart!" A striped hoof paws at the lush grass below, and the rain comes down with more strength. From high, the dragon swoops down to land upon Jackal's back, and he lets forth a vicious crow which echoes throughout the valley below. if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones,
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs
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