It's late by the time Koa reaches King's End; or maybe it's quite early? He's lost all sense of time in the melee, lost everything but the driving need to see his people to safety. Unsure how many days have passed (one? Two? none at all?), the weary Dragoon is fueled entirely by coffee and a few stolen hours of sleep. It shows in the dark circles under his eyes, the faint tremor of his hands, the way his heel won't stop tapping an anxious beat on the wooden floor of the cart that carries him through the darkness, away from the skyport and toward civilization.
He'd caught the last skyship to the last cart, only leaving his home when he was sure he'd done all he could. Disheveled and coated in dust and sweat, he stares with bloodshot eyes into the retreating distance, one hand curled into the fur of a sleeping Pip. Exhaustion claws at every cell in his body, but Koa doesn't rest - can't, not until this is finished, until he knows they're safe. Besides, there is no relief in unconsciousness. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the Tower falling, memories of the first time overlaid on this second, with a dragon's roar tied like string between them, echoing a refrain of failure and fear.
He'd caught the last skyship to the last cart, only leaving his home when he was sure he'd done all he could. Disheveled and coated in dust and sweat, he stares with bloodshot eyes into the retreating distance, one hand curled into the fur of a sleeping Pip. Exhaustion claws at every cell in his body, but Koa doesn't rest - can't, not until this is finished, until he knows they're safe. Besides, there is no relief in unconsciousness. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the Tower falling, memories of the first time overlaid on this second, with a dragon's roar tied like string between them, echoing a refrain of failure and fear.
Koa
