TOPIC | Midnight Sun: A Nuzlocke Story [hiatus]
A lucky find from a little while ago!
[img]http://i68.tinypic.com/2uyqhlj.jpg[/img]
Also, Clem's son grew up yesterday, and I'm all heart-eyes emoji.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=19386979]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/193870/19386979_350.png[/img]
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@CoatlPrince @ArgenteaMoon @tsaarn Thanks, I had fun with it! (and I know, isn't he lovely? I adore cherub on tundras)
@Digimon11 Added, thanks for the interest! And trust me, I was too!
@Digimon11 Added, thanks for the interest! And trust me, I was too!
@CoatlPrince @ArgenteaMoon @tsaarn Thanks, I had fun with it! (and I know, isn't he lovely? I adore cherub on tundras)
@Digimon11 Added, thanks for the interest! And trust me, I was too!
@Digimon11 Added, thanks for the interest! And trust me, I was too!
[center][b]Chapter 32: Falconidae[/b]
[size=2]@LagMonster @Khoshekh @Tempestuous @starslang @Scyras @excessnight@pensandink @Solaristigres @Nihilo @WillowWhisper @Averis @SolarPhoenix@RizuChan @ArgenteaMoon @Elzerei @eeeeel @tigressRising @hotdoge@Dragonfang @Whimzica @Soleil @Zexeos @windsway @Neige @KIMJA @rax@PandragonsBox @Silurian @Wolcan @AnnaStar353 @Rhyvendra @TwoJay @Aravis@CoatlPrince @Galaxy99 @Tarajara @tsaarn @Druddigon8 @brianna100 @Digimon11[/size]
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“Nice sweater.”
Shrike had meant to say something intelligent and authoritative, but it didn’t quite come out that way. The newcomer’s frills stiffened in what she interpreted as a scowl. “I was cold.”
The dragon did not seem to be an imminent threat, but Shrike took a step back to size him up all the same. He was a fae – smaller than her, maybe half her height – with a hide that shimmered with blacks and purples. His red eyes glowed out of the darkness of the cave, hard and sullen, but there was fear too in the slight tremors of his fans. He seemed young. “Are you going to try to kill me too?” the little fae buzzed, his voice as flat as his eyes. “I will set my bear on you, stay back...”
“Bear’s mine,” Shrike informed him, folding her arms across her chest. The defender made a huffing sound and shambled forward to sit next to her, as if to back her up. “And no one’s trying to kill you.”
“Oh, yeah? Tell that to the bounty hunters.”
“Bounty hunters?” Chime cut in, frowning. “It sounds like you’ve got quite the story to tell us.”
“Why would I tell you anything? I do not even know who you are.” The fae took an unsteady step back, throwing up his translucent wings to keep his balance. Shrike made a move toward the little dragon, concerned, but felt a warning claw at her shoulder. “Careful,” she heard Raust growl. “Those red eyes. That’s a plague dragon. He could be a carrier.”
The red eyes in question rolled dramatically. “That is prejudiced. Not all of us accept Plaguebringer’s blessing, you know.” The fae’s words were sharp, but he seemed unfocused – he reached out for a stalagmite to support himself, but missed, and Shrike moved to catch him before he collapsed. The newcomer flinched at her touch, but his eyelids were fluttering closed. He was out cold within seconds, and Shrike carefully shifted him to the ground. “Raust? Is he hurt?”
The skydancer was at her side quickly, previous reluctance forgotten. With an air of practiced briskness, he stooped to examine the little dragon, delicately laying two claws to the side of his neck. “He’s uninjured,” Raust reported, “just passed out. Overexertion, I’d expect – you faes don’t know when to call it quits, do you? We’ll need to get him warm, and get some food and water in him, and he should be fine.”
“Not to be...blunt,” Chime interjected, her coils twisting slowly in thought. “But is that a good idea? He could be a spy, for all we know.”
Shrike frowned – the spiral did raise a good point. “My bear led him right to us. They’re supposed to be pretty intelligent, right? I don’t think he would have done that if this dragon was a threat.” The defender gave a huff in what sounded like agreement – but it could have just been a warning to Raust’s warkitten, which had gathered the courage to creep forward and bat at the bear with a paw. “Besides, he’s teeny. Even if we find out he’s working against us, it’s not like he could do that much damage.”
Decision made, they carefully laid the unconscious fae across Raust’s feathery back, an action which he protested (“I may be the tallest, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of common [i]mule[/i]”). Chime and Shrike ignored him, turning to lead the rocky way back home.
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It was late – or it felt late, anyway. Time was something of a meaningless entity when every day was spent deep underground, far beneath a sky that didn’t even celebrate the passage of the sun. Shrike was struggling to keep her eyes open; the temple’s quiet grandeur made her feel sleepy at the best of times, and she was especially tired in this dim light. With their trips aboveground restricted, they were trying to preserve firewood as much as possible, lighting rooms with just a few candles at a time. Her bear wasn’t helping, either – he was curled up beside her, filling the space with gentle snores.
They’d made a makeshift nest for the fae out of a few pews and some dried grass, agreeing to take shifts watching him. Shrike was reminded of another sickbed, another unconscious dragon. Back when it had just been the three of them.
Shaking her head clear of these thoughts – it was no good to dwell on them – she went to fetch one of the candles, pulling it nearer to their charge. She’d never really had the chance to study another fae up close, and she couldn’t help peering curiously at the newcomer. Was she really that...delicate-looking? All filmy wings and diaphanous fins? With his wings folded up along his sides, the fae looked amazingly insubstantial, as if a puff of wind would blow him away. Did her neck look like that too? Awkwardly long and snakelike?
She was about to reach out and poke at the curious spray of feathers along the fae’s tail when he stirred, a hitch interrupting his steady breathing. “Hey there,” Shrike said gently, “you awake?”
The fae’s red eyes blinked blearily open, roving around the room. When they fixed on her, he gave a little jolt backwards. Shrike put up her hands in reassurance of peace. “Whoa, calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”
He looked as though he didn’t quite believe her, but he stilled, perhaps realizing that he was in no position to disagree. “Do you have water?” he croaked. Shrike wordlessly passed him her waterskin, which he grabbed and drank from greedily. “Thank you,” he muttered when he was finally done, handing it back. He looked a little more alive now, propping himself up on his elbows to look warily around the temple. “Where...”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Shrike told him firmly. “Could you eat something?”
“’M starving,” the little fae admitted, and so she passed him the plate of grub mush Raust had made up earlier. He made a face at its appearance, but devoured it all the same. “Thanks,” he said again, frills twitching warily. “Who are you, exactly?” His voice was near-monotonous, rising only subtly towards the end of the sentence.
“We’re the Midnight Sun,” Shrike replied, and then hesitated, wondering if it was wise to tell him the truth. Oh well. “My name is Shrike. And who are you? How did you find us?”
A sound from the temple’s entrance interrupted them, and Shrike turned to see a sleepy Raust poking his muzzle through the door. “’Lo,” he grumbled. “I’m here to take next watch...oh, he’s awake?” The skydancer perked up considerably. “I’ll go get Chime. Be back in a minute.”
Shrike turned back to the fae. “Sorry. Can you tell me your name?”
“No.” He folded his arms across his chest, a less-than-threatening gesture in one so small.
“Please?”
“Fine. It is Plagueling, bringer of darkness.”
“Kid,” Shrike groaned, resisting an urge to rub at her temples. “C’mon.”
The fae scowled at her for a moment, then gave in. “Fine. My name is Quint.”
“[i]Bonjour,[/i] Quint,” came a voice from the doorway. The other two had returned. “I’m Chime, and this is my good friend Raust.” The priest shot her a look, but didn’t comment, stepping forward to speak to the newcomer. “Can you tell us where you’re from, Quint?”
“Scarred Wasteland.”
“Okay...how’d you get to the Icefield from there?” Raust asked, pushing his hood away from his face.
“Flew. Walked some. Took a ferry part of the way.”
“Quint,” Shrike cut in, exasperated. “Help us out here. We’re not here to hurt you, okay? You can trust us. Why are you here? Did you come alone?”
The little fae sighed through his nose, but gave in. “Okay. My family trades pyrite – I was bringing a load of it down to sell at the Outpost. I got attacked by bounty hunters, three of them. Two mirrors and a giant ridgeback. They seemed to think I had a price on my head, but I do not think I did anything, yeah?”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Shrike told him softly. “How’d you get away?”
“Ran,” the fae buzzed, “out onto the tundra. They almost caught me – they would have killed me if your bear had not shown up.” Shrike’s jaw tightened, but Chime spoke up before she could reply. “I’m glad you’re safe, [i]chérie[/i]”, the spiral cooed, flashing him a winning smile. “Does your family know you are down here? Your markings...you must be from one of the older families to have inherited those. The Mabs? Klabautermanns? Papillons? If you tell us, we can help you get back home.”
Quint stared at her sullenly, clearly not drawn in by her charm. “I am not going back,” he said firmly, nestling back down into the grasses. He said something else – it was mostly muffled, but Shrike caught the word ‘tired’.
“Okay. Get some sleep – we can talk more when you’re feeling up to it.” Shrike jerked a thumb toward the door, and the three of them rose to go talk in the hallway, where they wouldn’t disturb the slumbering fae.
“Well,” Raust said eventually, his expression hidden in the shadow of his cowl. “This is an unexpected complication.”
Shrike heard Chime sigh from beside her. “Indeed. Perhaps he knows something, though – could prove useful.”
“That bounty was for me,” Shrike said suddenly, unable to hold back what was troubling her. “It had to be, don’t you think? They must have mistaken one fae for another.”
“I would say so, yes,” Raust mused. “I wonder if—“
“He almost died,” Shrike interrupted, an icy chill settling over her as she said the words. “You heard him. They could have killed him.”
“Well, you can’t blame yourself, of course,” Chime said, sounding surprised. “That has everything to do with the unpleasant dragons after you, and nothing to do with [i]you[/i].”
“I guess,” Shrike said, letting the matter drop. “Look, I think all three of us deserve some sleep. Quint will still be here in the morning – we can figure out what we’re going to do then.”
The others readily agreed, and Raust excused himself to return to his study. He wished them each good night, and before he left, Shrike caught just the briefest brushing of wings between the skydancer and spiral. [i]That[/i] was certainly a turnaround. Shrike raised an eyebrow at Chime after the priest was out of sight. “What’s [i]that[/i] about?”
Chime cocked her head, green eyes wide, the picture of perfect innocence. “What is [i]what[/i] about?” she inquired, with a practiced note of confusion. Shrike shook her head, trying to hide her smile. “Nothing. Good night, Chime.”
“[i]Bonne nuit[/i], Shrike.”
As tired as she’d been minutes ago, Shrike had trouble sleeping, her mind chasing itself into faraway corners as soon as she laid down in her nest. Here she was, safe in their little below-ground hiding place...but for how long? There was every chance that Quint’s supposed bounty hunters had followed him here, and sooner or later they could find their way in just as he had. And then what? There could only be one outcome; Shrike had visions of hiding in dark corners, desperate fights, bloodied claws.
Shrike rolled over on her side, thinking. The strange little fae had almost been killed, pulled from his normal life into a quiet war he deserved no part in. And Clementine...oh, Clementine. Chime could say that it wasn’t Shrike’s fault all she wanted, but that didn’t change the facts. If the tundra hadn’t been involved with her, she’d still be alive.
An idea had been forming for some time, growing like a pearl around sand. It was big enough now that it demanded to be noticed, rolling around in the back of her mind. Her body seemed to decide before she did – she sat up and rummaged around in her satchel until her claws closed around a much-folded piece of paper. Splinter’s note to her – it felt like it was from another era, written to a different dragon. She smoothed it out, reading over the familiar words once before flipping it over and scrawling a note of her own with a chunk of charcoal. Mouth set in a grim line, she placed the paper carefully on her nest, right in the center where it would be seen. They wouldn’t be happy about this. But this was for their own good. She couldn’t keep putting more dragons in danger for her sake.
An hour later, Shrike hoisted the makeshift pack on her shoulders, turning back to survey her would-be home for the last time. There was little sign of it above the ice, but she traced the little grove of dead pine trees with her eyes – the place where she’d watched the sunrise in the morning, where she’d once given Clementine a crown of daisies.
That was another life, and it was gone now.
She turned and began her trudge over the deep snow, the bear silent and resolute at her side. The bounty hunters might spot her, if they were in the area, but Shrike didn’t particularly care. In fact, that was sort of the point. If she let her hunters catch a glimpse of her, here and there, she might be able to lead them away from the lair.
It felt good to be aboveground at last – it was quiet and clear, with the stars out in a fantastic spangle over her head. This was where she belonged, here on the ice, not curled up hiding in a lair. Without a glance backward, Shrike hefted the pack and was on her way. She walked alone until she was tired, and found an icy ledge to shelter under when she couldn’t walk any longer.
And she knew, the next morning, when she awoke to find the edges of her wings banded like a hawk’s. She knew she had made the right choice.
[i]Some of us are better off alone.[/i]
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Chapter 32: Falconidae
@LagMonster @Khoshekh @Tempestuous @starslang @Scyras @excessnight@pensandink @Solaristigres @Nihilo @WillowWhisper @Averis @SolarPhoenix@RizuChan @ArgenteaMoon @Elzerei @eeeeel @tigressRising @hotdoge@Dragonfang @Whimzica @Soleil @Zexeos @windsway @Neige @KIMJA @rax@PandragonsBox @Silurian @Wolcan @AnnaStar353 @Rhyvendra @TwoJay @Aravis@CoatlPrince @Galaxy99 @Tarajara @tsaarn @Druddigon8 @brianna100 @Digimon11
@LagMonster @Khoshekh @Tempestuous @starslang @Scyras @excessnight@pensandink @Solaristigres @Nihilo @WillowWhisper @Averis @SolarPhoenix@RizuChan @ArgenteaMoon @Elzerei @eeeeel @tigressRising @hotdoge@Dragonfang @Whimzica @Soleil @Zexeos @windsway @Neige @KIMJA @rax@PandragonsBox @Silurian @Wolcan @AnnaStar353 @Rhyvendra @TwoJay @Aravis@CoatlPrince @Galaxy99 @Tarajara @tsaarn @Druddigon8 @brianna100 @Digimon11
“Nice sweater.”
Shrike had meant to say something intelligent and authoritative, but it didn’t quite come out that way. The newcomer’s frills stiffened in what she interpreted as a scowl. “I was cold.”
The dragon did not seem to be an imminent threat, but Shrike took a step back to size him up all the same. He was a fae – smaller than her, maybe half her height – with a hide that shimmered with blacks and purples. His red eyes glowed out of the darkness of the cave, hard and sullen, but there was fear too in the slight tremors of his fans. He seemed young. “Are you going to try to kill me too?” the little fae buzzed, his voice as flat as his eyes. “I will set my bear on you, stay back...”
“Bear’s mine,” Shrike informed him, folding her arms across her chest. The defender made a huffing sound and shambled forward to sit next to her, as if to back her up. “And no one’s trying to kill you.”
“Oh, yeah? Tell that to the bounty hunters.”
“Bounty hunters?” Chime cut in, frowning. “It sounds like you’ve got quite the story to tell us.”
“Why would I tell you anything? I do not even know who you are.” The fae took an unsteady step back, throwing up his translucent wings to keep his balance. Shrike made a move toward the little dragon, concerned, but felt a warning claw at her shoulder. “Careful,” she heard Raust growl. “Those red eyes. That’s a plague dragon. He could be a carrier.”
The red eyes in question rolled dramatically. “That is prejudiced. Not all of us accept Plaguebringer’s blessing, you know.” The fae’s words were sharp, but he seemed unfocused – he reached out for a stalagmite to support himself, but missed, and Shrike moved to catch him before he collapsed. The newcomer flinched at her touch, but his eyelids were fluttering closed. He was out cold within seconds, and Shrike carefully shifted him to the ground. “Raust? Is he hurt?”
The skydancer was at her side quickly, previous reluctance forgotten. With an air of practiced briskness, he stooped to examine the little dragon, delicately laying two claws to the side of his neck. “He’s uninjured,” Raust reported, “just passed out. Overexertion, I’d expect – you faes don’t know when to call it quits, do you? We’ll need to get him warm, and get some food and water in him, and he should be fine.”
“Not to be...blunt,” Chime interjected, her coils twisting slowly in thought. “But is that a good idea? He could be a spy, for all we know.”
Shrike frowned – the spiral did raise a good point. “My bear led him right to us. They’re supposed to be pretty intelligent, right? I don’t think he would have done that if this dragon was a threat.” The defender gave a huff in what sounded like agreement – but it could have just been a warning to Raust’s warkitten, which had gathered the courage to creep forward and bat at the bear with a paw. “Besides, he’s teeny. Even if we find out he’s working against us, it’s not like he could do that much damage.”
Decision made, they carefully laid the unconscious fae across Raust’s feathery back, an action which he protested (“I may be the tallest, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of common mule”). Chime and Shrike ignored him, turning to lead the rocky way back home.
It was late – or it felt late, anyway. Time was something of a meaningless entity when every day was spent deep underground, far beneath a sky that didn’t even celebrate the passage of the sun. Shrike was struggling to keep her eyes open; the temple’s quiet grandeur made her feel sleepy at the best of times, and she was especially tired in this dim light. With their trips aboveground restricted, they were trying to preserve firewood as much as possible, lighting rooms with just a few candles at a time. Her bear wasn’t helping, either – he was curled up beside her, filling the space with gentle snores.
They’d made a makeshift nest for the fae out of a few pews and some dried grass, agreeing to take shifts watching him. Shrike was reminded of another sickbed, another unconscious dragon. Back when it had just been the three of them.
Shaking her head clear of these thoughts – it was no good to dwell on them – she went to fetch one of the candles, pulling it nearer to their charge. She’d never really had the chance to study another fae up close, and she couldn’t help peering curiously at the newcomer. Was she really that...delicate-looking? All filmy wings and diaphanous fins? With his wings folded up along his sides, the fae looked amazingly insubstantial, as if a puff of wind would blow him away. Did her neck look like that too? Awkwardly long and snakelike?
She was about to reach out and poke at the curious spray of feathers along the fae’s tail when he stirred, a hitch interrupting his steady breathing. “Hey there,” Shrike said gently, “you awake?”
The fae’s red eyes blinked blearily open, roving around the room. When they fixed on her, he gave a little jolt backwards. Shrike put up her hands in reassurance of peace. “Whoa, calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”
He looked as though he didn’t quite believe her, but he stilled, perhaps realizing that he was in no position to disagree. “Do you have water?” he croaked. Shrike wordlessly passed him her waterskin, which he grabbed and drank from greedily. “Thank you,” he muttered when he was finally done, handing it back. He looked a little more alive now, propping himself up on his elbows to look warily around the temple. “Where...”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Shrike told him firmly. “Could you eat something?”
“’M starving,” the little fae admitted, and so she passed him the plate of grub mush Raust had made up earlier. He made a face at its appearance, but devoured it all the same. “Thanks,” he said again, frills twitching warily. “Who are you, exactly?” His voice was near-monotonous, rising only subtly towards the end of the sentence.
“We’re the Midnight Sun,” Shrike replied, and then hesitated, wondering if it was wise to tell him the truth. Oh well. “My name is Shrike. And who are you? How did you find us?”
A sound from the temple’s entrance interrupted them, and Shrike turned to see a sleepy Raust poking his muzzle through the door. “’Lo,” he grumbled. “I’m here to take next watch...oh, he’s awake?” The skydancer perked up considerably. “I’ll go get Chime. Be back in a minute.”
Shrike turned back to the fae. “Sorry. Can you tell me your name?”
“No.” He folded his arms across his chest, a less-than-threatening gesture in one so small.
“Please?”
“Fine. It is Plagueling, bringer of darkness.”
“Kid,” Shrike groaned, resisting an urge to rub at her temples. “C’mon.”
The fae scowled at her for a moment, then gave in. “Fine. My name is Quint.”
“Bonjour, Quint,” came a voice from the doorway. The other two had returned. “I’m Chime, and this is my good friend Raust.” The priest shot her a look, but didn’t comment, stepping forward to speak to the newcomer. “Can you tell us where you’re from, Quint?”
“Scarred Wasteland.”
“Okay...how’d you get to the Icefield from there?” Raust asked, pushing his hood away from his face.
“Flew. Walked some. Took a ferry part of the way.”
“Quint,” Shrike cut in, exasperated. “Help us out here. We’re not here to hurt you, okay? You can trust us. Why are you here? Did you come alone?”
The little fae sighed through his nose, but gave in. “Okay. My family trades pyrite – I was bringing a load of it down to sell at the Outpost. I got attacked by bounty hunters, three of them. Two mirrors and a giant ridgeback. They seemed to think I had a price on my head, but I do not think I did anything, yeah?”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Shrike told him softly. “How’d you get away?”
“Ran,” the fae buzzed, “out onto the tundra. They almost caught me – they would have killed me if your bear had not shown up.” Shrike’s jaw tightened, but Chime spoke up before she could reply. “I’m glad you’re safe, chérie”, the spiral cooed, flashing him a winning smile. “Does your family know you are down here? Your markings...you must be from one of the older families to have inherited those. The Mabs? Klabautermanns? Papillons? If you tell us, we can help you get back home.”
Quint stared at her sullenly, clearly not drawn in by her charm. “I am not going back,” he said firmly, nestling back down into the grasses. He said something else – it was mostly muffled, but Shrike caught the word ‘tired’.
“Okay. Get some sleep – we can talk more when you’re feeling up to it.” Shrike jerked a thumb toward the door, and the three of them rose to go talk in the hallway, where they wouldn’t disturb the slumbering fae.
“Well,” Raust said eventually, his expression hidden in the shadow of his cowl. “This is an unexpected complication.”
Shrike heard Chime sigh from beside her. “Indeed. Perhaps he knows something, though – could prove useful.”
“That bounty was for me,” Shrike said suddenly, unable to hold back what was troubling her. “It had to be, don’t you think? They must have mistaken one fae for another.”
“I would say so, yes,” Raust mused. “I wonder if—“
“He almost died,” Shrike interrupted, an icy chill settling over her as she said the words. “You heard him. They could have killed him.”
“Well, you can’t blame yourself, of course,” Chime said, sounding surprised. “That has everything to do with the unpleasant dragons after you, and nothing to do with you.”
“I guess,” Shrike said, letting the matter drop. “Look, I think all three of us deserve some sleep. Quint will still be here in the morning – we can figure out what we’re going to do then.”
The others readily agreed, and Raust excused himself to return to his study. He wished them each good night, and before he left, Shrike caught just the briefest brushing of wings between the skydancer and spiral. That was certainly a turnaround. Shrike raised an eyebrow at Chime after the priest was out of sight. “What’s that about?”
Chime cocked her head, green eyes wide, the picture of perfect innocence. “What is what about?” she inquired, with a practiced note of confusion. Shrike shook her head, trying to hide her smile. “Nothing. Good night, Chime.”
“Bonne nuit, Shrike.”
As tired as she’d been minutes ago, Shrike had trouble sleeping, her mind chasing itself into faraway corners as soon as she laid down in her nest. Here she was, safe in their little below-ground hiding place...but for how long? There was every chance that Quint’s supposed bounty hunters had followed him here, and sooner or later they could find their way in just as he had. And then what? There could only be one outcome; Shrike had visions of hiding in dark corners, desperate fights, bloodied claws.
Shrike rolled over on her side, thinking. The strange little fae had almost been killed, pulled from his normal life into a quiet war he deserved no part in. And Clementine...oh, Clementine. Chime could say that it wasn’t Shrike’s fault all she wanted, but that didn’t change the facts. If the tundra hadn’t been involved with her, she’d still be alive.
An idea had been forming for some time, growing like a pearl around sand. It was big enough now that it demanded to be noticed, rolling around in the back of her mind. Her body seemed to decide before she did – she sat up and rummaged around in her satchel until her claws closed around a much-folded piece of paper. Splinter’s note to her – it felt like it was from another era, written to a different dragon. She smoothed it out, reading over the familiar words once before flipping it over and scrawling a note of her own with a chunk of charcoal. Mouth set in a grim line, she placed the paper carefully on her nest, right in the center where it would be seen. They wouldn’t be happy about this. But this was for their own good. She couldn’t keep putting more dragons in danger for her sake.
An hour later, Shrike hoisted the makeshift pack on her shoulders, turning back to survey her would-be home for the last time. There was little sign of it above the ice, but she traced the little grove of dead pine trees with her eyes – the place where she’d watched the sunrise in the morning, where she’d once given Clementine a crown of daisies.
That was another life, and it was gone now.
She turned and began her trudge over the deep snow, the bear silent and resolute at her side. The bounty hunters might spot her, if they were in the area, but Shrike didn’t particularly care. In fact, that was sort of the point. If she let her hunters catch a glimpse of her, here and there, she might be able to lead them away from the lair.
It felt good to be aboveground at last – it was quiet and clear, with the stars out in a fantastic spangle over her head. This was where she belonged, here on the ice, not curled up hiding in a lair. Without a glance backward, Shrike hefted the pack and was on her way. She walked alone until she was tired, and found an icy ledge to shelter under when she couldn’t walk any longer.
And she knew, the next morning, when she awoke to find the edges of her wings banded like a hawk’s. She knew she had made the right choice.
Some of us are better off alone.
Ughhh, that gave me the chills. Shrike, my heart! She looks stellar with peregrine! Excellent choice. :D I can't wait for more! xx
Ughhh, that gave me the chills. Shrike, my heart! She looks stellar with peregrine! Excellent choice. :D I can't wait for more! xx
chelsea she | her +2 FR ...and we came forth to behold the stars. |