Tybal

Leader of Star Clan

Imagine, if you will, being a baby, still rather new to the world. Imagine that you have lovely wide wings that take you wherever you want though you are still young, and a neck that can stretch to catch whatever tiny insects you desire, quick as a whip, and a glorious crest that you can twitch and turn in an instant to show others how you feel. When you are afraid, you need only flatten your crest and help will flock to you, instantly understanding. Your scales are soft and your bones are light and you are made to move swiftly and accurately.

Imagine, if you will, that you find a scroll one day. You've never seen a scroll, not with letters that form something readable - only old jumbled and torn things. You unroll it, read the words eagerly though they do not make any sense. Your body is suddenly wracked with a horrific pain and you cringe away, dropping the scroll, terrified of what has happened and why you are in pain. You feel everything stretching, and the pain is vast, immense, and endless, and you black out.

Imagine, if you will, that when you are jolted back into agonizing consciousness the change has taken place and you cannot reverse it. Everything seems so very tiny and you cannot move, cannot even begin to imagine moving. You desperately try to signal for help with your crest, and no one comes. No one sees. You can't even feel it move. Your entire body is burning. Too hot, too heavy, too hard. You can feel your smaller crest, but even it is too heavy, too hard, and you cannot flex it the way you need to.

Imagine, if you will, that once hunger and thirst overcome pain and weakness, you are able to heave yourself to your feet, but you cannot even attempt to raise onto your hind legs, cannot spread your beautiful wings and simply fly. They are too heavy. Everything is too heavy. A suit of scales so densely plated that you feel claustrophobic and trapped surrounds your body, and you are terrified of what has happened to you.

Imagine, if you will, that you attempt to draw on your inner source of magic, the innate arcane abilities that flow through you as they pass through the universe, and find that the well has run dry. Not entirely - there is still just the barest trickle - but unbeknownst to you, all of your magical ability has been burned for now on the agony that you have been put through. You cannot summon help.

Imagine, if you will, that you are alone, and frightened.