Яikyn

I watch the severed branch fly through the air to splash in the water, my eyebrows rising up at the impact with the pool’s surface.Alright then, is a sarcastic thought floating as I look back at the crimson eyed brute – what was that supposed to mean?

I’m not a tree, or anything like it, bless the Gods.

But, the rumbling voice of the ebonite man boy lets a question fly as silence stretches between my words, and the dragon’s loathing of nearby branches. It makes me laugh, a pleased chuckle that resounds with some sort of delight that the boy knows of my home, but nothing of the enemy that had once been a thorn in the mountain leader’s sides. It also means he has nothing to do with them, and I’m quite fine with that. Any threat in his voice is lost on the epiphany that strikes me with the oddly humorous wording he has used, on the perfectly arrogant and youthful lack of fear that keeps my heart beating steady in my chest.

He is but a boy, and his dragon.

I indulge him with an answer, rather than some haughty retort, so good is my mood.

"They once ruled the World’s Edge," I say, the smile of being a know it all overly privileged piece of work alighting on my handsome face (idiot horse, be educated, redeem yourself in the eyes of the First who frown upon your ignorance as much as they do your crownless brow), "a people of dragons, and of peace. They built the wall of glass. And, if your lack of knowledge of them is any guess, they are no more."

And my smile lets him know all he needs to know of how very excited I am to hear this. Erebos had made mention of there being wars which had tossed the peoples of the Edge and the Falls about, but I had never assumed that the Basin’s greatest enemy had died along with their hold on the Moon’s wood.

One delight lending to another, the colt displays his own magical power – a useless flex of muscles that makes my smile twitch broader. Have I bothered you, stone wielder?

Yet, the conversation remains tensely on the friendly side of the fence, perhaps even lowering itself down from the rickety edge to the green grass below. I’m glad, really – the hellion has shown he won’t be as easy to bloody as Ashamin had been, and it has been a long while since my last bout with Furen and the other soldiers of the Nightwalk.

Not to say a battle against a God is not a worthy bit of training, of course – but a God is not a mortal man, more appropriately your own size (though the bloke is quite a bit bigger than me, in truth).

Volterra, he offers, and Verzes. The e’s of the beasts name are long and floating, the name in sharp resistance to the harsh electric sound of his master’s calling. I think this as the devilish little sky lizard does an odd flip, slamming into the haunches of the black brute, his claws scraping against flesh.

My own skin twitches. Fuck dragons; I thank silently the Gods for the unicorn’s resistance to such a violent bond, pray for those cursed to be forever bound to such ill mannered and savage creatures.

"Aye, I suppose so," I answer, wondering what such a statement implies. Does he wish to be friends?

I look at the bare whiteness of the space between his eyes. I wonder what sort of mind rests behind their red light.

He’s already proven himself physically worthy. I owe him as much to consider him for some sort of… companionship, though he is not my choice in company.

It is my duty to lure the lost into the light of the First Gods, after all.

That I hadn’t really done much fighting (unless kicking your own dad counts) in the second battle against the wolves is not something I’m going to bother mentioning either. I was an amazing warrior of grace and power upon the field with the shadow wolves. The end.

"Your table is nice," I remark with a nice enough tone, returning my attentions to the earthen plateau he’d summoned with his magic, letting my golden eyes touch upon it as I move to leave the water, my tail swaying behind me, "is it permanent, or will it wear away after some time?"

in every heart a hole