yael

Adrenaline flees from her body as quickly as it came, leaving the silver, winged figure all of a sudden drained of energy. Which is not the best predicament when one is in mid-flight. Well aware (now that she thinks about it) that her arrival in her newest form may cause some panic, an all-encompassing exhaustion demands she tries to find a clearing to land in somewhere along the Edge’s borders. Leather-bound wings throw up a whirlwind of dry twigs and pine needles as she lands heavily, without an ounce of normal Yael’s grace. In fact, there is nothing to call the least bit of resemblance to the little golden pegasus at all; if one were not to think of her silver-white locks, one might not make the connection at all.

Scaled tail and taloned feet touch the ground and her long body follows after, her neck snaking down to rest on the green earth. It aches. It throbs. The wound from Beloved’s horn could not magically disappear, though the puncture/skewer hole semed smaller now, on such a large neck. Bruises, too, peppered her chest and every foreleg movement held a stifled wince. There didn’t seem to be any lasting damage, or so her cursory assessment proclaimed - but she is no doctor. No, she would need to find Lyanna or Tilney, or even Sacre to pack the wound.

But maybe… not right now? She just needs to close her eyes for a moment. Just needs to rest. All the recent emotional and physical trauma begin to take their toll on the relatively fragile little pegasus, all buffer gone with the energy required when her body forced itself to transform. To save her life. And so the silver dragon closed its ice-blue eyes for a moment, beneath a brow of horns. Ah, she thinks as sleep abducts her… at some point she will need to find out what she looks like. And is the hot tub done yet? Good G-d she could go for a soak...

yael

What does one do with a sleeping dragon, indeed! Feeding would be lovely, but who knows what the effect of meat might have on poor Yael’s stomach once she shifts back to her normal form. Poke at your own risk, though she is sure to have enough control of her faculties to ensure she doesn’t accidentally char some poor, inquisitively brave soul. In truth, she is a rather small dragon, if one were to consider the great beasts of legend. Oh, her wings were quite as large as they were before, bathed in the color of moonlight instead of the golden rays of the sun. The talons that tip the wings of her bones were black, though they are folded against her ribs and thus, are hard to distinguish. It’s odd that those are the little that remain, rather than her eye color, or even her signature gilded, glinting fur. No one could possibly mistake her then!

Ah, but magic is a fickle thing. Where once she could have picked up foals and dangled them high above a burning forest, she would be hard pressed to do so now (just ask Weaver - theirs is a history that is once again, bound for a head-on collision). And so, she may have wickedly sharp teeth and scales and claws that can rip open a horse’s belly, but she is still Yael-sized, and thus could potentially be over-powered, if they were to mind the various large, webbed spines and horns that sprouted from her brow, her serpentine neck and down her backbone.

Luckily for her, it is no warrior that crosses the dozing reptile’s path, but a Doctor. Even with the looming threat, he thinks of others second, and subconsciously, Yael finds that fascination. The unicorn’s voice slowly rouses her from the bone-deep exhaustion that has invaded every cell of her body. Deep, crystal-blue eyes open slowly, her second lids slow to rise and identify whomever stands before her. Having only seen the third Moon Doctor from afar, it takes a moment to recall his name, but when she does, a slight draconic smile flashes across her unfamiliar features. Even in her stupor, she retains her humor.

”Ssssacre? Eetssss me, Yael. I’m sssssorry… “ She tries to put her thoughts into words, but a usually accented tongue is only compounded by the unfamiliar, elongated shape of her mouth (not to mention the unusually large teeth - imagine your own tongue, trying to flounder while surrounded by a whole half-circle of buckteeth!). Though her wound isn’t serious per se, her general state is a possible cause for concern. Again, Yael tries to shake it off and speak normally. “Jusssst a fight. Sssss’ok.”

And what would they think when they find out she’d been attacked - for a second time?

yael

In all the post-adrenaline, post-trauma, relief and exhaustion, Yael never once stopped to think that someone might find it surprising to hear a dragon speak. Did they not have companions with the ability to engage in telepathic speech? Other shifters? Or were mythical, non-speaking dragons such a common occurrence that finding one who speaks is a novelty? Surprise is evident in his tone and she can see where the great reveal of her identity has him more than a little startled. Surprise! she ought to say, and change back to her original form, but oh, that sounds so exhausting at the moment. The tiniest, softest chuckle trickles out as Sacre stands there, flabbergasted – because yes, it might be terribly difficult to imagine the petite, sweet-tempered Pegasus as a fire-breathing, death-wielding dragon. Even if she is small, by the great beast’s standards.

What happened? Well that is a mighty fine question, isn’t it? Yael sighs, both in weariness and exasperation at the whole scenario. She should really try to find out who that madwoman is and teach her a lesson. Yael’s version of a lesson – the last time she tried to teach someone one, it ended up with her dragon jaws clamped tight around a fluttering moth, threatening to swallow the transfigured troublemaker in a single gulp. It seemed an apt lesson to her at the time… but who knows what is going on now, back in B’kanna. Her hesitancy to bring it up (is it a personal problem, or would it turn into a herd problem?) combined with Sacre’s generosity allow the moment to pass, and she nods her assent to his decision. He is the doctor, after all.

She makes an effort to hold very still, which isn’t terribly difficult when the winds come. The healing itself is odd  but not uncomfortable, winds wrap themselves around her in a breezy, pillow-like embrace, magic swooping into her wound and doing what it does best. Yael tries to relax to make things easier for Sacre and his abilities, remembering all too well how healing can be surprisingly taxing work. In the end, all that’s left is a horn-sized circle on her neck, darker than the rest of her scales – something that could be easily mistaken as a bit of dirt instead of a scar.

“I feel worldsssss better. T’ank you Sssssacre.” Still, she makes no indication that she plans on leaving that spot any time soon. Crystal-blue eyes whirr as his companions approach, and she flashes the two little foxes a bit of a wink. Her gaze then slides up to Sacre’s face, where she says just that. “You are very kind.  To anssssswer your previoussss kesssstyon, I vasssss attacked by a uneecorn een ze Labyrinth.  Ssssseem to xaf acquired a ssssssstalker een ze ssssssshort time I’ve been xere. Ssssshe found and  cornered me and vell… xere I am and sssssshe sssssstil valks free”. Her shoulders roll in a slight shrug, not wanting to make too much of a deal about it. The fact is that she could now easily defeat the white witch now – not only that, but protect others from her madness as well.