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Argen There was magic rampant on the fields, plains, and mountains of Helovia. Surrounded by blue lava, Argen stood in wonder. However, when the clouds formed at his featherless heels and brought him rising into the sky, his eyes widened in surprise. Solomon screeched and flew circles around his bondmate as he rose, puffs of dark grey smoke rolling from his open jaws. The serpent did not stop his cry until Argen's hooves were planted firmly on the ground once more. Excitedly, Argen took off at a blasting gallop, away from the edge of the island. What was this place? Solomon flew after him in his frenzy, sleek bronze body shining in the dim sunlight. The pair did not slow until they reached a wide, grassy meadow. The sun above them painted the field in reds, oranges, and dull yellows. There was a limited window of sunlight left, and the pair did not know how they felt about being on this island after dark. What would happen here?
Carefully, with a few snorts and mumbles of discomfort, Argen lowered his head to munch on some of the luxurious grasses at his feet. His sandy blonde tail tapped agitatedly against his hocks, ears twitched quickly. Solomon landed on his croup, turning his royal crown to keep a lookout with bright, imitating yellow eyes. The dragon gave Argen images of an empty field, but suddenly a flash of red caught his keen attention. The bronze let out a small hiss and lowered his head, trying to focus in on whatever was hiding in the darkness of the cherry trees. Solomon was still young, and his senses were not as keen as they would be in his adult years, but he could see the faintest outline of wings and a horn stitched on the dark, dark silhouette of a horse.
Argen's head snapped up and he turned to face where Solomon had seen the creature. His ears snapped to attention towards it and his muscles tensed. With the instinct of hardened warriors before him, his powerful, thick neck began to arch and his chest puffed out some. "Show yourself, coward! You cannot keep the company of shadows forever!" He snarled, Solomon climbing up his mane to rest on his poll. |
We are the long forgotten sons
And daughters that don't belong to anyone
We are alone under this sun
We work to fix the work that you've undone
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