Penumbra

You lost track of where you were going long time ago. You gallop, taking turns at random. No matter which way you go, the feeling in your head tells you you're going deeper, deeper - how deep do these tunnels reach?

You finally decided to stop at a crossroads, one passage partially caved in, inky blackness the only thing visible over the heap of rubble. You stop to try to get your bearings, pulling out a compass and then cursing as you remember how badly they work in the Stormcaller's turf.

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Taranau and Mellt's dutiful daughter. Gwymon is her mate.
Follows in her parent's footsteps.

She feels her age deep in her bones now. Her hatchmates have all gone on to the deep sleep long ago, the weak products of the clan's first nest. No markings have emerged from deep genetic memory to splay themselves on her skin. No clothes adorn her, no hatchlings survive her. She is - alone.
Soon, she thinks, she will go too.

Penumbra is a very quiet dragon, preferring to take her orders and carry them out without speaking a single word. When she does speak, her voice is dusty, dry, crackled - unused for too long.
She lurks in the deeper sections of the lair, emerging preternaturally from the shadows whenever someone calls for her. Nobody really knows what she's doing down there. Nobody dares to ask.


falcon/shim/stain