idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword
Koa tells himself it is his dutiful exploration of Torchline that leads him to the lighthouse, and not the fact that he is utterly, mind-numbingly bored. The prospect of a vacation had at first been enticing because new places, new things to do; then, it had seemed like a great way to avoid seeing Sohalia and facing his heartbreak.
But now? Now the boy is beginning to itch and ache for his routines, the consistency of a training ground and the regiment of a schedule. Never having had so much free time on his hands, he has no real idea of what to do with it - there is only so long one can spend at the beach.
So when someone had told him a local legend had set up a training ground near the lighthouse of Aumakua, he'd of course decided to check it out for himself. He hadn't expected it to be quite so... modest.
Or filled with spiders.
Silk stretches like netting from stone to stone, leaving a the impression of a jungle-gym built for miniature ghosts. At the heart of the mess a redhead girl with two unlikely companions seem to have begun a fruitless war against the cloud spiders, their displays of violence rather admirable. Koa watches a moment as a dragon rains fire down on web, letting the heat wash away before stepping into proper earshot. "Need a hand?" he calls, ever helpful, eyebrows raised over mirrored sunglasses, his hands thrust casually in the pockets of his jeans.
But now? Now the boy is beginning to itch and ache for his routines, the consistency of a training ground and the regiment of a schedule. Never having had so much free time on his hands, he has no real idea of what to do with it - there is only so long one can spend at the beach.
So when someone had told him a local legend had set up a training ground near the lighthouse of Aumakua, he'd of course decided to check it out for himself. He hadn't expected it to be quite so... modest.
Or filled with spiders.
Silk stretches like netting from stone to stone, leaving a the impression of a jungle-gym built for miniature ghosts. At the heart of the mess a redhead girl with two unlikely companions seem to have begun a fruitless war against the cloud spiders, their displays of violence rather admirable. Koa watches a moment as a dragon rains fire down on web, letting the heat wash away before stepping into proper earshot. "Need a hand?" he calls, ever helpful, eyebrows raised over mirrored sunglasses, his hands thrust casually in the pockets of his jeans.
koa
