Tor

"'Tor the wise'," he scoffs, "'Tor the bold'. Pah. 'Tor the coward', more like it. 'Tor the parse-poor leader'." The tundra flattens the vegetation around him and sits, taking a moment to catch his breath. The dark blue fae on his shoulder hops off and curls around his foreleg. "Tor, you're being...far too hard on yourself," she pauses, caringly, content that she chose her words correctly.
"Hard?" he says incredulously, "Rill, what were we thinking? We're not leaders, we're just...we're common dreamers. Average dragons. We're not cut out for this. And it's not like we can show our faces there, or Eleven know anywhere else ever again," he ends with a slight, bitter snarl.
"Tor..." Rill replies, at a loss for words, but still concerned about the tundra. "I'm sure they'll accept-"
"NO," he barks, definitively. "We're not going back. I'm not going back. I can't." He sighs, disheartened. "Not to that. Not to their disappointment." She gestures to reply but he speaks first.
"Come on, Rill," he picks himself up and shakes himself off. "Let's keep going."

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