Sikeax,

Just a little bit further.
“Place bad. Place painful. Should leave.”
It’ll be fine.
A short, slithering hiss follows short, a constant reminder of the traumatic memories of this barren and seemingly-empty place. It even appeared to be worse than the Throat when Frostfall hit. Nothing grew or choose to live within its belly, and out of the need to know what might have the guts to live in it, Sikeax had drug them both out into the abyss.
Or maybe it was a search for the sea, a lust that tainted itself with greed to find the end of all of this and make it her own, something no one could possibly invade and take from her.
But with the shadows of the night making threats in the softest whispers, spreading outwards an array of colours, all of which hold their star-studded hands out to the pale beauty of an afternoon sky, begging for it to ascend behind horizon lines that fade to mountains and oceans, there is the gentle worry that comes with every mother.
She hopes that Zhu is fine, tucked beneath the caring wings of Amara and watched over by the sharp eyes of Sameira, shielded from the dangers of the world, just for tonight.
I think…
One more check, turning a crowned skull back towards the way they had come to see how much they had come and how much time they had left, ...that we should head back home.
“Good. Good. Hurry. Place bad. Place hurt again.”
She isn’t quite sure as of how to tell him that the land itself will not release flames upon them once more, that the attack had come from something in the night that she couldn’t see even with having a lantern growing out of her head, a thing that melted back into the darkness like that was where it always belonged. If she had even gone ahead with the audacity to lie to him and say that the fire erupted from supernatural forces, the lie might of fallen flat.
Fear hangs over her heart like a thick storm cloud. It drips the occasional raindrop of worry, just to remind her that Hobgoblin would waste no time in striking back at her for taking him as such a fool.
If you’re in that much of a hurry, then go ahead. You don’t have to have me carry you around all the time. You can fly again.
Claws roll into her skin before sweeping back out, merely grazing the surface as if their stimulation was meant to reflect the movement of an ocean’s wave. A huff that sounds more like a sigh bursts from a black chest.
Or are you going to be lazy?
A inner tidal wave strikes her, snorting as the feeling of his body changing brings her some sort of shared discomfort, watching as a blur of silver leaps over her head and throws itself into the open air. For only a few brief moments does he hover, flapping torn and charred wings with ferocity to uphold his body, barbed tail hanging limply beneath him.
“Am not lazy. Sia lazy. Sia sleep all day and do nothing but lay in the Sun. We go now.”
The escape alone is quick, chasing blindly as laughter haunts her brain, taunting her because her legs are sore and weak, broken down and worn by the work of the day, screaming out for a break.
In the end, it comes down to the pitiful last minute screams of a bird, watching as the poor creature is led into the afterlife by the jaws of Hobgoblin, pinned to the ground in forced submission. She can’t bring herself to watch, instead staring off into the distance, caught up in the gradual movement of a body in the distance.
Do you think it’s someone else?
“Moving rock. Sia stupid.”
Rocks don’t move.
“Still moving rock.”
Instinct tells her no, almost every past experience tells her no, especially the haunting scar now tattooed to her neck, but with the pace and direction of its movement, she comes to worry that it will indeed come to reach them with time. “We should leave.”
But he will not budge for her, littering the earth with feathers and painting his jaws with blood as he takes his sweet time with such a precious gift. Time inches by, bringing in the beast, drawing out lines and colours until she is assured that the once ‘rock’ is another of her species, driven out into the depths of a living hell.
Deja vu slides over her tongue like the cold, harsh taste of metal, staring longer and longer til she becomes sure that this is a person she once knew, forgotten with the age of time.
It’s the gold that gives them away, rapidly blinking blue eyes to calm the feeling that it’s nothing more than a mirage.
“Rikyn?” Hobgoblin’s head rises to see now, decorated with the shorter feathers of his meal. “Is that you?”
She should know by now that it’s best never to hope on strangers, even the ones that seem familiar.

OOC: I couldn't resist. Hope you don't mind <3
Hobgoblin is a silver Wyvern(a bi-legged dragon in a sense) with red eyes in this post. About 3.5 ft head to tip of the barbed tail and the wings are tattered with holes and big gaps along the edges. Looks pretty much like a Skyrim Frost Dragon if that makes sense.  


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