The boy is growing and hardening into the planes of a
man with each day that passes, his limbs stronger and his muscles harder. It is little surprise that Arakh seizes upon the opportunity of the party like a starving man grasps food; he has turned into something of a recluse in the recent months, embarrassed by the 'awkward' stage he'd found himself in. His legs had seemed too gangly, his ears too large, his wings cumbersome - it hadn't been his most attractive phase, so he hid himself away whilst his body moved through it and into something far more appealing. The young bull feels better now, his second year almost upon him - testosterone has finally shifted him out of gangliness and into
handsomeness.
The Throat's party, then, seems like a perfect time to lower his inhibitions and have fun for a change. Like several others, Arakh has brought a gift - it's a small, crude effigy of the Sun God made from twigs that he'd painstakingly woven together with his teeth, something to focus on whilst he spent his days squirreled away waiting for his body to grow into his legs. He'd coated the doll in animal fat, melted with his fire magic, then set it aflame with the same magic; the fat helps preserve the flame, allowing it to burn long and fearsome. He hopes the Sun God will approve, and he tries to ignore the smell of singing fur that comes from his own nose as he flies with his creation and the wind billows the flames against his skin. He's used to burns, and pays the pain little mind.
He lands elegantly, practice having forged his flying skills into almost perfection. The boy moves forwards and places his offering upon a small slab of stone nearby, careful to keep it away from everybody else's - it's on fire, after all, and he doesn't want to burn the place down. His teal gaze tumbles upon a barrel, and he frowns with interest. "What's that?" His voice is far deeper than his age would imply, rough and accented and as gruff as stones rasping across gravel.
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[O] We Are Children of Blood & Fire
