Username: Serelinda
Category: Gothic (I think- it might be general)
Word Count: 869
Title: Sleep
Writing/Link to Writing:
The hatchling’s jaws gaped, her claws flailing about in the spray of blue and white foam. She called to her— to her mother, who sat passively on the shore. The dragon watched the youngling struggle, blinking at the bright, glistening drops of water that flung about the drowning dragon’s claws, and she marveled at the beauty it created. She watched as the hatchling’s snout passed below the waves.
Ivy jolted awake, her muscles spasming briefly, and her mate quickly twisted her way.
“What is wrong?” He asked, his emerald eyes hooded from sleep.
“It was but a dream.” Ivy spoke, lowering her head back onto the nest, nuzzling the spindly leaves of the lone egg between her claws.
The male shifted, now looking full at the female.
“I do not wish to speak of it.” She pulled her tail about her, blocking her mate from her gaze. She heard him settle down again, shifting occasionally, and she grew annoyed. Her dreams had already cost her so much sleep, and now her mate was going to cost her even more.
There was a loud crashing of a wave, and the sound of water splattering upon rock. Ivy’s head rose, and she looked about. They were nestled away in the Gladekeeper’s territory: there was no sea— only insignificant streams. The woods were thick about her. Her mate was still, now soundly asleep beside her. She lowered her head once more.
“Mother, can we catch fireflies, tonight?” The hatchling, a Wildclaw, jumped from one fallen leaf to another, her small claws sinking into the crinkling plant matter.
Ivy padded at her side. “If that is what you wish.” She scanned the surrounding wood— still thickly misted and lush with morning dew— before descending with her daughter down the path that led to the stream.
“Cedar, slow down.” The young dragon did not listen, and, instead, leapt down onto a fallen log, then down by the stream’s edge. The rains had come sooner than expected that season, and the stream was wide and deep, its banks curling up into the blades of grass.
The grass was slick between Ivy’s claws, and she padded carefully down to her daughter, her tail flicking about for balance. She paused, watching the small eddies pull along fallen branches and leaves, swirling about, then on in ever random patterns. She stared, curiously, until a large ripple echoed out over its surface, droplets plopping into the smooth surface, eliciting its own, mini ripples.
“Mama!”
Cedar was in the water— it was she who had caused the many ripples to dance across the water. And she could not swim.
Ivy sped across the bank alongside Cedar, as the young hatchling was carried along by the current.
Soon, the mist crept out over the water, thickening, and robbed Ivy of her sight. Her daughter’s voice grew faint, and she found that she had run into the water up to her belly. She was alone.
Ivy lay down, a Moordwelling Trunker plodding quickly off, its trunk tossing about as it snorted. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and puffy, and she blinked slowly, her crest sagging.
“You still have not been sleeping well.” Her mate chided, as Cedar darted about his claws. “Go home. I will finish the hunt.”
As she got to her feet, Ivy stumbled back through a clump of ferns, looking about the misty landscape. She saw fish swimming about the mist-like soup that covered the ground, and her crest rose as a radiant, golden fish swam by her. She padded after it, stumbling as she went.
Her hide glistened with a thin sheen of water as she lumbered out onto soft sand that gave and squished between her toes. She collapsed, the sand sticking to her damp hide as she dozed, staring out at the expanse of salty, frothing water.
A wave crashed onto the shore, rolling up to her belly and receding, tugging at her body ever so softly. The water was so cool, so comforting. Ivy watched as the golden fish sprung from the water. She watched the droplets as they rained back down and rejoined the sea.
Shakily, she got to her feet, feeling the water glide up over her ankles, past her belly, and up her neck. The waves lulled about her, pushing her back to shore, then pulling her out again, rocking her softly as her eyes slid shut.
“Mama!”
Her eyes opened, and she spluttered for air, kicking her legs out until she broke the water’s surface. She could see Cedar in the shallows, coming toward her, but she could not speak. Her lungs were filled with water, and she watched the sprays of water that her struggling claws created. When she looked back, she did not see Cedar, and she was convinced that this was but another dream, for she knew that her daughter could not swim, and she had warned to never enter the water. No, she was warm, now, held by the water about her, and she stopped her thrashing. Instead, she watched the bubbles leave her mouth as she dipped beneath the waves, and spied another trail of bubbles dancing to the surface but a short distance away.
Would you be comfortable with people discussing your writing in the discussion thread?: Of course. ")
Category: Gothic (I think- it might be general)
Word Count: 869
Title: Sleep
Writing/Link to Writing:
The hatchling’s jaws gaped, her claws flailing about in the spray of blue and white foam. She called to her— to her mother, who sat passively on the shore. The dragon watched the youngling struggle, blinking at the bright, glistening drops of water that flung about the drowning dragon’s claws, and she marveled at the beauty it created. She watched as the hatchling’s snout passed below the waves.
Ivy jolted awake, her muscles spasming briefly, and her mate quickly twisted her way.
“What is wrong?” He asked, his emerald eyes hooded from sleep.
“It was but a dream.” Ivy spoke, lowering her head back onto the nest, nuzzling the spindly leaves of the lone egg between her claws.
The male shifted, now looking full at the female.
“I do not wish to speak of it.” She pulled her tail about her, blocking her mate from her gaze. She heard him settle down again, shifting occasionally, and she grew annoyed. Her dreams had already cost her so much sleep, and now her mate was going to cost her even more.
There was a loud crashing of a wave, and the sound of water splattering upon rock. Ivy’s head rose, and she looked about. They were nestled away in the Gladekeeper’s territory: there was no sea— only insignificant streams. The woods were thick about her. Her mate was still, now soundly asleep beside her. She lowered her head once more.
“Mother, can we catch fireflies, tonight?” The hatchling, a Wildclaw, jumped from one fallen leaf to another, her small claws sinking into the crinkling plant matter.
Ivy padded at her side. “If that is what you wish.” She scanned the surrounding wood— still thickly misted and lush with morning dew— before descending with her daughter down the path that led to the stream.
“Cedar, slow down.” The young dragon did not listen, and, instead, leapt down onto a fallen log, then down by the stream’s edge. The rains had come sooner than expected that season, and the stream was wide and deep, its banks curling up into the blades of grass.
The grass was slick between Ivy’s claws, and she padded carefully down to her daughter, her tail flicking about for balance. She paused, watching the small eddies pull along fallen branches and leaves, swirling about, then on in ever random patterns. She stared, curiously, until a large ripple echoed out over its surface, droplets plopping into the smooth surface, eliciting its own, mini ripples.
“Mama!”
Cedar was in the water— it was she who had caused the many ripples to dance across the water. And she could not swim.
Ivy sped across the bank alongside Cedar, as the young hatchling was carried along by the current.
Soon, the mist crept out over the water, thickening, and robbed Ivy of her sight. Her daughter’s voice grew faint, and she found that she had run into the water up to her belly. She was alone.
Ivy lay down, a Moordwelling Trunker plodding quickly off, its trunk tossing about as it snorted. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and puffy, and she blinked slowly, her crest sagging.
“You still have not been sleeping well.” Her mate chided, as Cedar darted about his claws. “Go home. I will finish the hunt.”
As she got to her feet, Ivy stumbled back through a clump of ferns, looking about the misty landscape. She saw fish swimming about the mist-like soup that covered the ground, and her crest rose as a radiant, golden fish swam by her. She padded after it, stumbling as she went.
Her hide glistened with a thin sheen of water as she lumbered out onto soft sand that gave and squished between her toes. She collapsed, the sand sticking to her damp hide as she dozed, staring out at the expanse of salty, frothing water.
A wave crashed onto the shore, rolling up to her belly and receding, tugging at her body ever so softly. The water was so cool, so comforting. Ivy watched as the golden fish sprung from the water. She watched the droplets as they rained back down and rejoined the sea.
Shakily, she got to her feet, feeling the water glide up over her ankles, past her belly, and up her neck. The waves lulled about her, pushing her back to shore, then pulling her out again, rocking her softly as her eyes slid shut.
“Mama!”
Her eyes opened, and she spluttered for air, kicking her legs out until she broke the water’s surface. She could see Cedar in the shallows, coming toward her, but she could not speak. Her lungs were filled with water, and she watched the sprays of water that her struggling claws created. When she looked back, she did not see Cedar, and she was convinced that this was but another dream, for she knew that her daughter could not swim, and she had warned to never enter the water. No, she was warm, now, held by the water about her, and she stopped her thrashing. Instead, she watched the bubbles leave her mouth as she dipped beneath the waves, and spied another trail of bubbles dancing to the surface but a short distance away.
Would you be comfortable with people discussing your writing in the discussion thread?: Of course. ")