// think of the sun that shaped them //
Sol’s random appearance out of the grass was delightful, and she offered the dragon her light bout of laughter, before snagging at a patch of herbs and placing them in her bag. Then she rose, still scouring the lines of stalks and greenery, some dried portions of reed catching her eye before she moved on, listening as Mittens continued to harass the local wildlife.
Zavien’s question set her at ease. It was simple to answer, and didn’t require any great leaps of logic or treading on paths not yet set or established. With a wave of calm, her hand brushed over a few wildflowers, and the composed smile returned. “Oh, lots of things – but mostly cookies and cakes.” The ones they’d had at their makeshift meeting within the Celestine had been concocted by her hands – save for some of the more lavish portions she’d yet to conquer yet. “Might opt for something pumpkin when the season changes,” and she grinned at him; amused by the plethora of choices and opportunities those flavors enhanced and conjured.
Storms and danger made her tilt her head, a brow arching. Maybe he was one that actively sought such notions – it would make sense for Dragoons. But as a creature of relative inexperience when it came to hazards, unless it was upon her region or her friends (case in point, any venture against monsters, their involvement in the war, the infected regions…), the thought of a picnic and watching the lightning streak in the distance made her laugh, if not also worry for those pursuits. “From far away, probably.” Maybe if someone was flattened in the field and could just glance up…then that conjured others things and she stopped that train of thought promptly.
Spotting something else interesting (a dragonfly with very pretty wings), she knelt close to it, watching as it spread its scaly fixtures, while the other notions and observations hastened by. She hadn’t expected the offer thereafter, and her eyes maneuvered back to him, a grin appearing once more. “Okay! If you want!”
Then all thoughts of searching through old books went quickly away as a scream echoed across the tiny rivulet and company. Her eyes went immediately towards the source, knowing what it was before even looking, the spine-tingling press down her back enough to warrant the cold rush to her hands. No hesitation gnawed at her; instinct alone ensured she was crouched entirely in the grass, blocking everything from view. “Get down,” she whispered to Zavien, dragon, and snowball alike; a command rather than anything else. “Don’t make a sound.” If they were fortunate, the banshee wouldn’t pursue them, and they could escape elsewhere, like far, far down the stream.
Zavien’s question set her at ease. It was simple to answer, and didn’t require any great leaps of logic or treading on paths not yet set or established. With a wave of calm, her hand brushed over a few wildflowers, and the composed smile returned. “Oh, lots of things – but mostly cookies and cakes.” The ones they’d had at their makeshift meeting within the Celestine had been concocted by her hands – save for some of the more lavish portions she’d yet to conquer yet. “Might opt for something pumpkin when the season changes,” and she grinned at him; amused by the plethora of choices and opportunities those flavors enhanced and conjured.
Storms and danger made her tilt her head, a brow arching. Maybe he was one that actively sought such notions – it would make sense for Dragoons. But as a creature of relative inexperience when it came to hazards, unless it was upon her region or her friends (case in point, any venture against monsters, their involvement in the war, the infected regions…), the thought of a picnic and watching the lightning streak in the distance made her laugh, if not also worry for those pursuits. “From far away, probably.” Maybe if someone was flattened in the field and could just glance up…then that conjured others things and she stopped that train of thought promptly.
Spotting something else interesting (a dragonfly with very pretty wings), she knelt close to it, watching as it spread its scaly fixtures, while the other notions and observations hastened by. She hadn’t expected the offer thereafter, and her eyes maneuvered back to him, a grin appearing once more. “Okay! If you want!”
Then all thoughts of searching through old books went quickly away as a scream echoed across the tiny rivulet and company. Her eyes went immediately towards the source, knowing what it was before even looking, the spine-tingling press down her back enough to warrant the cold rush to her hands. No hesitation gnawed at her; instinct alone ensured she was crouched entirely in the grass, blocking everything from view. “Get down,” she whispered to Zavien, dragon, and snowball alike; a command rather than anything else. “Don’t make a sound.” If they were fortunate, the banshee wouldn’t pursue them, and they could escape elsewhere, like far, far down the stream.
Lena
// the speck of truth that's ours //
