flora
Flora catches Damien's glance and nods, a wordless little encouragement tucked behind the curve of her smile. It isn’t hollow; there’s a steady confidence behind it. "We’ll find her," she echoes softly, her voice a kind of tether that never tugs too tight. But his doubt slips in like smoke through floorboards, and she shakes her head, curls catching the breeze that sweeps between buildings like it’s been listening in. "As easy as it is to keep what we love right up close," Flora murmurs, not looking at him this time, but ahead, as if Aria might already be rounding the corner, fur mussed, but triumphant, "they always get free eventually. Especially the ones with claws and teeth and freedom stitched into their instincts."
She says it gently, but it’s truth through and through. Wild animals—even the soft-eyed kind—aren’t made for cages, not even the gilded, well-meaning ones. Above them, Spice wheels higher, and though the little dragon hasn’t found anything yet, Flora can feel the pull of the bond like a quiet fishing line; taut, waiting, until suddenly it snaps.
A thrill zips along her spine, frost-sharp and electric. Spice doesn’t speak, but the pulse she sends is enough; there! The dragon doesn’t hesitate, diving like a silver-tipped dart through the Haulani air, narrowing toward a darkened alleyway tucked between shuttered vendors and old stone. She’s no bigger than the cub, but as she lands in a spray of gravel and salt wind, her wings snap wide, twice her size, and gleaming like something holy. With a hiss, she plants herself between the hound and the cub, exhaling a stream of shimmering frost across the boards to freeze the path under the dog’s feet.
On the street, Flora jerks to a stop, head tilted just so. Spice’s thrill ripples through her again, and a bark rises to meet it, distant but clear. Hand closing around Damien’s arm again, she yanks him with her. "Quick!" she calls, already veering sharply off-course, skirts flaring as she pivots toward the alley. "I think she’s found her!" And without missing a step, she’s running. Not blindly, but fast; heart lifted high with the kind of hope that crackles just before it turns real or wrong.
She says it gently, but it’s truth through and through. Wild animals—even the soft-eyed kind—aren’t made for cages, not even the gilded, well-meaning ones. Above them, Spice wheels higher, and though the little dragon hasn’t found anything yet, Flora can feel the pull of the bond like a quiet fishing line; taut, waiting, until suddenly it snaps.
A thrill zips along her spine, frost-sharp and electric. Spice doesn’t speak, but the pulse she sends is enough; there! The dragon doesn’t hesitate, diving like a silver-tipped dart through the Haulani air, narrowing toward a darkened alleyway tucked between shuttered vendors and old stone. She’s no bigger than the cub, but as she lands in a spray of gravel and salt wind, her wings snap wide, twice her size, and gleaming like something holy. With a hiss, she plants herself between the hound and the cub, exhaling a stream of shimmering frost across the boards to freeze the path under the dog’s feet.
On the street, Flora jerks to a stop, head tilted just so. Spice’s thrill ripples through her again, and a bark rises to meet it, distant but clear. Hand closing around Damien’s arm again, she yanks him with her. "Quick!" she calls, already veering sharply off-course, skirts flaring as she pivots toward the alley. "I think she’s found her!" And without missing a step, she’s running. Not blindly, but fast; heart lifted high with the kind of hope that crackles just before it turns real or wrong.
We need love, But all we want is danger
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
