DRAGOMIR

He enjoys the silence as they walk together, so accustomed to the chatty women he seemed to always find himself in the company of that walking side by side with such long pauses between words was refreshing, the dragon girl very much like her ancient bloodline in that she filled every void with silent words that read in every detail of her frame. Being near her makes him miss his home of youth, the serpentine white beaches framing the dense and beautiful forests of trees far stranger than those that grew here, but most importantly, he misses his comrades, the massive gathering of dragons that kept him from growing too lonely on his adventures and during his daily life. From his experiences with the flashing rainbow of wyverns, he would have came to the same conclusion as Semira’s father; the gold and bronze beasts tended to be more regal in nature, less likely to play and let their emotions flit and flicker across their bodies so obviously.

They never, ever tried to play, at least not after they’d reached any sort of maturity. While he remembers Israfel with much fondness, he also does not remember any time that he spent with the dragon that had not consisted of his mother sweetly translating the thoughts that passed between she and her darling bronze, usually stories or lessons disguised as stories. Israfel liked telling tales and truths, and Requiem had told her son that it was due to the fact that it made him feel wise and important.

Dragomir wasn’t sure if that was a better description of his mother as much as it was for her dragon.

”Will you run with me?” she asks, and a fleeting image of Kahlua’s frame dashing towards the edge of the sea fills his mind before he blinks and it is gone. The touch of her lips draws his eyes towards her, a smile slipping across his lips as she promises not to use her wings and explains that she only walks for his comfort. It’s a thought that hasn’t ever really crossed his mind, that the sky would be faster than the forest, and he feels sort of foolish for only realizing it now; after all, his father had used his bonded many times to scout ahead of his position or to spy on a nearby wanderer without announcing the presence of the fallen king and his bride and children. What other reason would it have proved a useful tactic if flight was not swift, and efficient?

"You didn’t have to walk with me," he states, his smile still light on his lips though he feels somewhat guilty for slowing her down on her quest to return home; it means something to him, though, that she had chosen to walk with him and share her tales, to discuss with him of all people what had gone on while she had been absent. It meant he had spared her these conversations with her kin, and for that, he felt he had done well, even if her return was slightly delayed by his inability to fly.

Not that he’d truly want that power, anyway. It seemed a horrible means of transportation, hovering ever so many meters above the earth with only the wind and thin, flimsy looking appendages to hold one there.

His dark tail whips loosely around his body and bites at a flank as he snorts and prances forward a pace, sinew rippling in preparation for the brisk run that will close the distance between here and the fading wall. "But a run sounds nice," he chuckles gently between his words, "last one there is a fetid dragon egg!"

His conclusion is a shout that trails out behind his already moving form, laughter trailing from his lips at the unfair start to the race and Semira’s assumed determination to beat him (she was a dragon after all, wasn’t she? And no dragon anywhere liked to lose.).

CrafteR

world's edge