Post by lee on Apr 29, 2013 10:16:31 GMT -5
Name: D'ren (formerly Dieren)
Gender: Male
Age: 15 turns - deceased
Sexuality: Bisexual
Location: Western Hold -->Dalibor Weyr
Rank: Weyrling
Personality:
Appearance:
Family:
Diedara - mother, fisherwoman, deceased
Tayren - father, fisherman, deceased
Tayerdan - older brother, fostered at Crom
Auntie Farah - caretaker/guardian
Pets: --
History:
Dragon Preference: PINK OR YELLOW. They will be a force of unequaled optimism! Actually that might be painful for everyone, sooo no real preference. Drama is good. Surprises are good. Maul the poor little puppy dog as you wish.
Dragon Name: Datwith
Dragon Age: 0 Turns - deceased
Dragon Color: IRON - C7CEC5
Dragon Length: --
Dragon Personality: By Boo:
Datwith is easily confused and gets annoyed when other dragons do confuse him in such a way. He hates things that are out of the ordinary and gets even more annoyed when people do things that they should not. Everything should happen in an order and it should be proper. Things that happened out of order is not ok such as people standing out of line or reds being friendly. Obviously there is something weird about that.
He doesn’t like variation in colours either and as such does not like it when his siblings are not just one shade of the colour they are supposed to be. One thing he does like, though, is the person he chose because they are proper. They think others are silly too for their variation from the norm. Datwith will always dislike his red sister, forever. There will be no changing that.
He will also try to be a leader, even going to the point of trying to correct his Weyrlingmasters and other masters, telling them that what they are teaching is wrong. This has the possibility to cause much stress for his bonded unfortunately as he struggles to control an iron that is supposed to be stoic and calm. Sure, when things are in order he is calm but otherwise he is very easily distressed and offended.
Dragon Appearance: By Boo:
Datwith is a solid iron colour with no variation to his hide. He would hate it if he had a different colour on his hide anyway because it is not proper, do you hear!? Large and strong for an iron gives him the force he needs to back up his opinions and thoughts in a more aggressive manner.
Dragon History:
Datwith was born angry. Angry and confused. Born to Iron Hemetath and Gold Couineth, the young dragonet decimated the line of male Candidates in his pursuit of order, of cohesiveness. When his attention was caught by his siblings, he caused his cyan sister to escape between, and was attacked in rage by their mutual red sister. He escaped from her back to the line of Candidates, where he found his D'ren, only for the boy to murdered seconds later by the red still seeking revenge. D'ren lasted long enough only to express his love, and Datwith went between
The Impression and Passing of Iron Datwith and D'ren:
Gender: Male
Age: 15 turns - deceased
Sexuality: Bisexual
Location: Western Hold -->Dalibor Weyr
Rank: Weyrling
Personality:
Dieren’s not your everyday, angsty, secretive, dangerous type of blazing hero. No, Dieren is less cautious, predatory carnivore and more like your neighbor’s overenthusiastic golden canine, leaping on you enthusiastically and slobbering all over your favorite tunic with all the well-meaning joy of long lost best friend and all the intelligence of an old, slightly moldy tuber. He’s never had much to his name. Not that this bothers him. Nothing about his life really bothers Dieren. He’s a pretty simple creature, happy when he’s happy and…and well really, he’s pretty much always happy. The mug is always half-full, and even when it's empty you get to look forward to a fresh, piping hot pot. He’s a bit blunt and unafraid to ask sometimes risky questions, but he does it frankly and so without malice. He’s a little bit tactless sometimes, but he doesn’t mean to be, he’s just insatiably curious. He just a little too sincere for his own good.
He’s consistently eager. He throws himself into everything with the exuberant energy of someone desperate to learn. Dieren’s not worried about the future, not so long as he plans best he can. The rest’ll come, and it’ll be okay. You can upset him, and make him worried, but it’s incredibly hard to make him, in and of himself, angry (it's that optimism thing). He's just a genuinely sweet, cheerful person. He’s also friendly to the point of being irritating. The thought that there are people who don’t want to be friends is utterly foreign to Dee. He’ll try and be friends with anyone, regardless of what kind of reception he gets.
It would be a mistake to assume his simplicity of character hides an equal simplicity of the mind. Dieren’s uncomplicated--that doesn’t make him unintelligent. Sure, he doesn’t know his letters, but there wasn’t much need for him to learn them, and if given a chance its likely he will pick them up quickly. He’s smart about making quick decisions, and fair in considering all options and opinions when there’s a larger audience. He’s no mastermind and never will be but he has a sense for asking the right questions, and getting people involved in the decision making.
He's an inveterately perky morning person. Beware.
Appearance:
Dieren is gangly and still slightly awkwardly stretched out, with the thin, quiet wrists of a boy and the strong, rough arms of an adult. He’s hovering a bit below most boys his age, but with the way he devours food and changes shoe sizes, it’s clear he’s not quite done growing yet. Unfortunately, because he IS still growing, he’s in that slightly awkward stage where his limbs are longer than he is and he’s having issues with his feet growing, it seems, longer by the week. Since he’s never quite sure where his limbs are going to be or how much land his feet are going to cover, he’s got issues with grace. But, to his credit, he’s adaptable and flexible, and while he may trip fairly often, he usually lands on his feet or turns it into something intentional.
He has the lean, wiry muscle of someone who physically works for a living, even as young as he is. It’s not fully defined, still in the boyish, developing stage. He’ll be pretty solid when he’s done growing. His skin is a bronze color, like someone who spends a lot of time outside. He gets sunburned easily, but after the first time of the year, he just gets darker and darker.
If one disregards the height, his slenderness, cheekbones and long eyelashes tend to give him an almost effeminate look in the right light. In the sun, his broad shoulders and do a great deal to belie that image. His hair is a muddy brown-blonde, and he tries to wash it when he can, but circumstances aren’t always forgiving, so he usually cuts it close to his head to keep it from being a problem. When it grows out, it springs in tight curls. His eyes are a regular, everyday brown. He doesn’t blink very often, which is mildly disturbing when you first notice.
He also has a rather large nose. It’s not particularly wide, just a tad long. And pointy. He insists that it looks strong. Provided it’s a cloudy day and his nose isn’t casting any shadows, he may be right. But it’s iffy. His lips are on a slightly crooked slant, making it look like he’s always smiling. Which he usually is, for that matter. Dieren’s got the sweetest, most sincere, warm and sunny smile around.
His clothes are never quite long enough, and his shoes are more patches of hide than shoe. He’s only got so many pairs of clothing, but he’s real careful about taking care of them.
Family:
Diedara - mother, fisherwoman, deceased
Tayren - father, fisherman, deceased
Tayerdan - older brother, fostered at Crom
Auntie Farah - caretaker/guardian
Pets: --
History:
For as long as Dieren can remember it’s been him and his Auntie Farah. He has only a vague sense of what happened to his parents, and he’s never bothered to ask-Aunt Farah was enough of a mom to make up for it. He knows he’s got an older brother fostered somewhere up North, but there’s an couple turns age difference, and they never really met. Dimly, he remembers being told his parents were lost when their boat overturned, and even more dimly he remembers two curly-topped heads with warm eyes and warm voices, but they get fuzzier each turn.
Somewhere around his seventh turn, he started to become aware that he and his Auntie didn’t have as much as other people. They never wanted for anything, but Auntie’s clothes always had a few more patches, and he wore his shoes long after they pinched badly enough for him to prefer being barefoot. There were no spare marks for bubbly pies, or new toys. It never occurred to Dieren to ask why, and it rarely came up with other children--sternly instructed to be polite--and as Dieren was as cheerful a soul as any child could be, it was easy to be satisfied with lots of hugs from Auntie Farah and his imagination. She seemed happy with the seashell necklaces he would make, and he was happy with the rate sweet she would make just for him.
Like most little boys of his hold, it was fishing for Dieren. He was actually rather better at mending nets than the actual job of catching itself, but he muddled along, pretty average at the tasks set to him, finding peace in the sparkling waves and mystery in the storms that rocked them high. He was happy, but when blue Mifth swooped down to cart him off to Dalibor, he was ecstatic.
Standing at Couineth and Minanth's Hatching was a dream come true. It stayed that way. When Datwith Impressed to him, D'ren was whole, but it was only for a sparse moment that they were together. Datwith's sister ripped D'ren's throat in a rampage for revenge against her brother, and D'ren survived long enough only to know he'd been chosen, and long enough to love the one who left with him.
Dragon Preference: PINK OR YELLOW. They will be a force of unequaled optimism! Actually that might be painful for everyone, sooo no real preference. Drama is good. Surprises are good. Maul the poor little puppy dog as you wish.
Dragon Name: Datwith
Dragon Age: 0 Turns - deceased
Dragon Color: IRON - C7CEC5
Dragon Length: --
Dragon Personality: By Boo:
Datwith is easily confused and gets annoyed when other dragons do confuse him in such a way. He hates things that are out of the ordinary and gets even more annoyed when people do things that they should not. Everything should happen in an order and it should be proper. Things that happened out of order is not ok such as people standing out of line or reds being friendly. Obviously there is something weird about that.
He doesn’t like variation in colours either and as such does not like it when his siblings are not just one shade of the colour they are supposed to be. One thing he does like, though, is the person he chose because they are proper. They think others are silly too for their variation from the norm. Datwith will always dislike his red sister, forever. There will be no changing that.
He will also try to be a leader, even going to the point of trying to correct his Weyrlingmasters and other masters, telling them that what they are teaching is wrong. This has the possibility to cause much stress for his bonded unfortunately as he struggles to control an iron that is supposed to be stoic and calm. Sure, when things are in order he is calm but otherwise he is very easily distressed and offended.
Dragon Appearance: By Boo:
Datwith is a solid iron colour with no variation to his hide. He would hate it if he had a different colour on his hide anyway because it is not proper, do you hear!? Large and strong for an iron gives him the force he needs to back up his opinions and thoughts in a more aggressive manner.
Dragon History:
Datwith was born angry. Angry and confused. Born to Iron Hemetath and Gold Couineth, the young dragonet decimated the line of male Candidates in his pursuit of order, of cohesiveness. When his attention was caught by his siblings, he caused his cyan sister to escape between, and was attacked in rage by their mutual red sister. He escaped from her back to the line of Candidates, where he found his D'ren, only for the boy to murdered seconds later by the red still seeking revenge. D'ren lasted long enough only to express his love, and Datwith went between
The Impression and Passing of Iron Datwith and D'ren:
ORIGINAL THREAD - by Boo and Lee
ooc: warning the next few posts contain violence of the most extreme. Do not read if you would be upset by this.
As the iron stalked over to his siblings another dragonet hatched into this madness. A little sea-green dragonet fell from her eggs and stared about herself with an incredibly vague expression. Well this was all very fun! Being here in the warmth. Perhaps she should go Impress now. Yes, that would be fun. The green wandered off in the wrong direction to the candidates and stared intently at her mother’s rump as though trying to Impress the great gold. There she remained for a short while, shielded from the view of others.
Her vision swam with the weight of the words that were flowing through her mind and Rayna swayed slightly, unable to concentrate on just one voice or one part of the hatching. Whomever was speaking to her was distracting her thoughts and it was only Avalle speaking to her that made her turn. Too late.
The red and purple had moved in the path of the iron even the purple with a normally jovial expression had yellow eyes. Wary. Confused. Brother and sister stood with solidarity as their larger brother approached. They stood protecting their cyan sister and apparently the purple made something of a joke. The iron snorted and with his bodily strength pushed the two out of his way, opening his maw. And crunching down.
The cyan twitched and then betweened to a much safer place. The iron turned his attention then on the red who had screamed with rage. She lashed out, wings flaring and tearing at the larger dragon’s hide. Even with his brute strength there would be no stopping an enraged red. With unbridled rage, she leapt onto his back clawing and tearing at his hide. The purple stood back watching with intensity but then seemed to gather himself and tried to tear his sister from his brother. Everything was happening incredibly fast. A tumble of purple, red and white as the dragonets scrabbled with one another. The purple was shoved aside as the iron managed to throw the red from his back.
Limping slightly and hissing, he ran back to the boys. The red tore after him still screeching her war cry. The iron bumbled into the boys and knocked several over as the red got closer and closer. Yet the red knew what she would have to do. She knew how this could be fixed. How it could all be fixed. The iron stopped before a boy, Dieren and his eyes swirled with Impression colours.
D’ren. You are mine.
Yet it was not the iron the red lunged at. The red leapt and connected with the boy...
It was only now that Rayna was able to concentrate, the voices dying down in her mind as Couineth roared and jumped forward to try and prevent the slaughter but too late. The Weyrwoman flinched as Couineth moved to stand protectively over her other children knowing this was too late. With the carnage, few would have noticed that the queen egg had finally cracked and the movement was becoming ever more frantic.
The purple was calling out to his sister trying to prevent the further bloodshed as the green wandered over to him and asked a question. Whatever this was prompted distinct confusion on the face as the purple keened softly for their departed cyan sister. The black who had remained, walked slowly up to his purple brother and cowered in the larger dragon’s shadow, staring fearfully across the sands.
--
The iron hadn’t touched him. As it stalked away, Dieren felt oddly bereft, like he should have stopped it, like he should have called out and turned it around before’before what?
The cyan dragonet blinked between...and didn’t come back. Dieren wanted to weep, soul aching for the loss of the tiny dragonet. A cry pulled from his throat before he could stop it, and both hands flew up to muffle the sound. He didn't blame the little iron--he had heard tales of riders who lost their other halves, what difference was a dragon without a bonded? They weren't complete yet, weren't whole, but he took a half step forward before remembered doing so was unallowed, desperate to help the shining iron find his partner and end the horror. Chaos broke out. Purple, red, iron, flashing, howling and the sickly green of ichor. Dieren couldn’t hold himself still any longer, he lunged forward and...and he was lost, falling forever into rainbow eyes with more strength than he could have ever imagined, feeling that strength fill him so completely he instantly realized how incomplete he'd been until this point, and he returned that strength with every bit of love he had. He felt the surprise at that love, and wordlessly answered it, as he would forever on from this moment.
But a moment was all they got.
ooc warning: the following is not pleasant, please don't read if you are easily upset by violence and its consequences!
D'ren wasn’t a fighter. A boy who spent his days mending nets and doing laundry had little in his bones to respond to the attack, to know it for what it was. In a few years, perhaps, when he was a dragonrider in truth, trained and ready, but in that crucial moment D'ren's world was consumed by the simple words of Datwith in his mind, and all that escaped was a shout, choked by red hot liquid and ending in a strangled gasp as the red tore at his throat.
He went down.
Datwith screamed with rage at his sister, enraged howl a snarl of fangs and talons, incoherent save for the roar of You will END. You anathe--
NO!
D’ren intercepted the iron dragonet, clung with everything he had as mother and brother called away the red. No, no, Datwith no, I won’t share you. Stay with me. That’s right. The iron would be with him, the iron would stay. Not like his parents, washed away by the seas, not like his brother who left, or his Auntie, all too quick to send him to the Weyr, like friends who could afford the passage to a crafthall. Datwith would stay. It was wonderful. Dizzy, giddy, D’ren smiled up in wonder--up? Was he laying down? How strange...
No! Do not be weak! The iron snarled, raging furiously, I chose you. You are an ironrider now, so you are not weak. Do not act like it. Stand up. Stand UP!
D'ren alone, perhaps, heard past the fury, past the malevolent wrath to the desperation behind it, the love that was reluctant but uncompromised. Filled with adoration, Dieren--D'ren, now! Datwith had said!--reached his hand to lovingly stroke the deep gray head, which turned to meld to his hand as it belonged there despite the anger in its eyes. And for his iron, for his Datwith, he would stand. He would. The cold spread from his gut, and he couldn't feel the legs he tried to force himself onto, failing and falling back to his knees, aware only of a searingly hot liquid, thick and dark coating him and the hand that could still, just barely, feel soft damp hide over swirling eyes. It was raining, that was all. For this creature, he'd stand despite it. For him, he'd do anything. Anything in the world because he was his and his heart was gone. No. no I'm not. Not with you Datwith. We'll be...I--sorry, I, I can’t seem... D’ren stroked the head in his hand, still smiling, and tried for a second time to stand. For one brief minute, Dieren had been consumed with heat, from his own blood in his cheeks to the sand snaking its blazing warmth through his feet, up to his belly and shoulders’but suddenly he was cold. Falling. Cold as iron, wasn’t that a thing? That wasn’t right. Why was he cold? Strange--hadn't the Sands been scorching?
He was having trouble thinking, like the edges of his thoughts were blurred with dark.
What had he been thinking? He’d been thinking he was cold, suddenly cold. Alarmed, he reached out, Datwith, are you cold? It’ll’it’ll warm up! Don’t worry. Mumbling over the heat in his throat, D'ren tried to speak his thoughts but found he couldn't. Had he swallowed klah? The liquid in his throat was warm, no, hot, hot in his throat but he didn’t remember taking a drink, and he turned his head to let it dribble out, because he couldn’t make his lips come together to spit, tasting burning copper and not caring because what was copper next to iron? And his iron, his Datwith, was there and waiting for him He tried to stand, one last time, and one last time he failed, making it only p to an arm before he fell, and the colors in his eyes arranged themselves into a shining gray shape that made him smile, reach out in love to his beloved iron, Just a...just a moment Datwith, I think I... he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, even to comfort the desperate creel the cried in his ears. Couldn’t--
Mine.
MINE.
D’ren-Mine.
Still damp wings spread, curling, for one sorrowful moment to cover eyes that stared, empty, at nothing, around silent, sand-colored curls soaked in red, and even though the color, the very color filled him with murderous hate, Datwith did not want to fight anymore.
He did not want to yell anymore.
He lifted his head slowly.
And spread his wings.
Green Renlith and Blue Mifth rose to their haunches to answer the silent space left behind where a child of their queen should have been, eerie, heartbroken keen pouring from their throats in the mourning farewell to two of their own gone between, and the would-be rider lost with them.
ooc: warning the next few posts contain violence of the most extreme. Do not read if you would be upset by this.
As the iron stalked over to his siblings another dragonet hatched into this madness. A little sea-green dragonet fell from her eggs and stared about herself with an incredibly vague expression. Well this was all very fun! Being here in the warmth. Perhaps she should go Impress now. Yes, that would be fun. The green wandered off in the wrong direction to the candidates and stared intently at her mother’s rump as though trying to Impress the great gold. There she remained for a short while, shielded from the view of others.
Her vision swam with the weight of the words that were flowing through her mind and Rayna swayed slightly, unable to concentrate on just one voice or one part of the hatching. Whomever was speaking to her was distracting her thoughts and it was only Avalle speaking to her that made her turn. Too late.
The red and purple had moved in the path of the iron even the purple with a normally jovial expression had yellow eyes. Wary. Confused. Brother and sister stood with solidarity as their larger brother approached. They stood protecting their cyan sister and apparently the purple made something of a joke. The iron snorted and with his bodily strength pushed the two out of his way, opening his maw. And crunching down.
The cyan twitched and then betweened to a much safer place. The iron turned his attention then on the red who had screamed with rage. She lashed out, wings flaring and tearing at the larger dragon’s hide. Even with his brute strength there would be no stopping an enraged red. With unbridled rage, she leapt onto his back clawing and tearing at his hide. The purple stood back watching with intensity but then seemed to gather himself and tried to tear his sister from his brother. Everything was happening incredibly fast. A tumble of purple, red and white as the dragonets scrabbled with one another. The purple was shoved aside as the iron managed to throw the red from his back.
Limping slightly and hissing, he ran back to the boys. The red tore after him still screeching her war cry. The iron bumbled into the boys and knocked several over as the red got closer and closer. Yet the red knew what she would have to do. She knew how this could be fixed. How it could all be fixed. The iron stopped before a boy, Dieren and his eyes swirled with Impression colours.
D’ren. You are mine.
Yet it was not the iron the red lunged at. The red leapt and connected with the boy...
It was only now that Rayna was able to concentrate, the voices dying down in her mind as Couineth roared and jumped forward to try and prevent the slaughter but too late. The Weyrwoman flinched as Couineth moved to stand protectively over her other children knowing this was too late. With the carnage, few would have noticed that the queen egg had finally cracked and the movement was becoming ever more frantic.
The purple was calling out to his sister trying to prevent the further bloodshed as the green wandered over to him and asked a question. Whatever this was prompted distinct confusion on the face as the purple keened softly for their departed cyan sister. The black who had remained, walked slowly up to his purple brother and cowered in the larger dragon’s shadow, staring fearfully across the sands.
--
The iron hadn’t touched him. As it stalked away, Dieren felt oddly bereft, like he should have stopped it, like he should have called out and turned it around before’before what?
The cyan dragonet blinked between...and didn’t come back. Dieren wanted to weep, soul aching for the loss of the tiny dragonet. A cry pulled from his throat before he could stop it, and both hands flew up to muffle the sound. He didn't blame the little iron--he had heard tales of riders who lost their other halves, what difference was a dragon without a bonded? They weren't complete yet, weren't whole, but he took a half step forward before remembered doing so was unallowed, desperate to help the shining iron find his partner and end the horror. Chaos broke out. Purple, red, iron, flashing, howling and the sickly green of ichor. Dieren couldn’t hold himself still any longer, he lunged forward and...and he was lost, falling forever into rainbow eyes with more strength than he could have ever imagined, feeling that strength fill him so completely he instantly realized how incomplete he'd been until this point, and he returned that strength with every bit of love he had. He felt the surprise at that love, and wordlessly answered it, as he would forever on from this moment.
But a moment was all they got.
ooc warning: the following is not pleasant, please don't read if you are easily upset by violence and its consequences!
D'ren wasn’t a fighter. A boy who spent his days mending nets and doing laundry had little in his bones to respond to the attack, to know it for what it was. In a few years, perhaps, when he was a dragonrider in truth, trained and ready, but in that crucial moment D'ren's world was consumed by the simple words of Datwith in his mind, and all that escaped was a shout, choked by red hot liquid and ending in a strangled gasp as the red tore at his throat.
He went down.
Datwith screamed with rage at his sister, enraged howl a snarl of fangs and talons, incoherent save for the roar of You will END. You anathe--
NO!
D’ren intercepted the iron dragonet, clung with everything he had as mother and brother called away the red. No, no, Datwith no, I won’t share you. Stay with me. That’s right. The iron would be with him, the iron would stay. Not like his parents, washed away by the seas, not like his brother who left, or his Auntie, all too quick to send him to the Weyr, like friends who could afford the passage to a crafthall. Datwith would stay. It was wonderful. Dizzy, giddy, D’ren smiled up in wonder--up? Was he laying down? How strange...
No! Do not be weak! The iron snarled, raging furiously, I chose you. You are an ironrider now, so you are not weak. Do not act like it. Stand up. Stand UP!
D'ren alone, perhaps, heard past the fury, past the malevolent wrath to the desperation behind it, the love that was reluctant but uncompromised. Filled with adoration, Dieren--D'ren, now! Datwith had said!--reached his hand to lovingly stroke the deep gray head, which turned to meld to his hand as it belonged there despite the anger in its eyes. And for his iron, for his Datwith, he would stand. He would. The cold spread from his gut, and he couldn't feel the legs he tried to force himself onto, failing and falling back to his knees, aware only of a searingly hot liquid, thick and dark coating him and the hand that could still, just barely, feel soft damp hide over swirling eyes. It was raining, that was all. For this creature, he'd stand despite it. For him, he'd do anything. Anything in the world because he was his and his heart was gone. No. no I'm not. Not with you Datwith. We'll be...I--sorry, I, I can’t seem... D’ren stroked the head in his hand, still smiling, and tried for a second time to stand. For one brief minute, Dieren had been consumed with heat, from his own blood in his cheeks to the sand snaking its blazing warmth through his feet, up to his belly and shoulders’but suddenly he was cold. Falling. Cold as iron, wasn’t that a thing? That wasn’t right. Why was he cold? Strange--hadn't the Sands been scorching?
He was having trouble thinking, like the edges of his thoughts were blurred with dark.
What had he been thinking? He’d been thinking he was cold, suddenly cold. Alarmed, he reached out, Datwith, are you cold? It’ll’it’ll warm up! Don’t worry. Mumbling over the heat in his throat, D'ren tried to speak his thoughts but found he couldn't. Had he swallowed klah? The liquid in his throat was warm, no, hot, hot in his throat but he didn’t remember taking a drink, and he turned his head to let it dribble out, because he couldn’t make his lips come together to spit, tasting burning copper and not caring because what was copper next to iron? And his iron, his Datwith, was there and waiting for him He tried to stand, one last time, and one last time he failed, making it only p to an arm before he fell, and the colors in his eyes arranged themselves into a shining gray shape that made him smile, reach out in love to his beloved iron, Just a...just a moment Datwith, I think I... he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, even to comfort the desperate creel the cried in his ears. Couldn’t--
Mine.
MINE.
D’ren-Mine.
Still damp wings spread, curling, for one sorrowful moment to cover eyes that stared, empty, at nothing, around silent, sand-colored curls soaked in red, and even though the color, the very color filled him with murderous hate, Datwith did not want to fight anymore.
He did not want to yell anymore.
He lifted his head slowly.
And spread his wings.
Green Renlith and Blue Mifth rose to their haunches to answer the silent space left behind where a child of their queen should have been, eerie, heartbroken keen pouring from their throats in the mourning farewell to two of their own gone between, and the would-be rider lost with them.
