The Peregrine coasted above the desert on wings of canvas and plumage of aged teak, driven by the wind and the magic that kept her aloft. Although Flowerbirth was the gentlest of seasons in the desert, the skyboat's captain didn't seem inclined to stop and smell the flowers this time. Not after what had happened the last time!
His dragon, however, had both a shorter memory and a much better sense of smell.
The glacial-pale companion had been soaring above and a little ahead of the boat when she suddenly flapped her wings and banked into a circle, senses sharpening onto the ground far below. That was all the warning that Tal got before she folded her wings and dove, arrowing down towards where a small fire was sending up a thin trail of smoke. "Boreal!" he yelled after his dragon, but she conveniently opted not to hear him as she was drawn to the scent of cooking meat like a nugget of iron to a lodestone.
Tal had to wrestle the rigging and the tiller to cut the Peregrine's forward momentum and bring her down in a gentle spiral before he could 'land' by dropping the ground anchor from a dozen feet up and shimmying down the rope ladder he dropped over his skyboat's side. His dragon had long since presented herself to Zavien with bright eyes and a bass grumble of greeting, offering her head for scritches while surreptitiously trying to worm her way closer to the roasting meat.
Zavien wanted a dragon? Well, he had one now!
His dragon, however, had both a shorter memory and a much better sense of smell.
The glacial-pale companion had been soaring above and a little ahead of the boat when she suddenly flapped her wings and banked into a circle, senses sharpening onto the ground far below. That was all the warning that Tal got before she folded her wings and dove, arrowing down towards where a small fire was sending up a thin trail of smoke. "Boreal!" he yelled after his dragon, but she conveniently opted not to hear him as she was drawn to the scent of cooking meat like a nugget of iron to a lodestone.
Tal had to wrestle the rigging and the tiller to cut the Peregrine's forward momentum and bring her down in a gentle spiral before he could 'land' by dropping the ground anchor from a dozen feet up and shimmying down the rope ladder he dropped over his skyboat's side. His dragon had long since presented herself to Zavien with bright eyes and a bass grumble of greeting, offering her head for scritches while surreptitiously trying to worm her way closer to the roasting meat.
Zavien wanted a dragon? Well, he had one now!
