flora
The wounded dog watches them for one long, tense moment; ears flattened, chest heaving, eyes wild with a pain too old to name. But whatever fight had flared up in it guttered now like a match in rain. With a final, miserable whimper, it limps backward on shaking limbs, dragging one paw, then the other, before turning to slink off into the deeper maze of Haulani.
Flora steps back to let it pass, shifting just enough to avoid the sweep of its retreating tail. Her eyes never leave it, not until it disappears into the crowd again, just another shadow in the cluttered city. Then she whistles low and sharp, two fingers against her tongue.
Spice wheels in the sky, and then drops in a blur of frost-laced wings, landing neatly on her shoulder with a flutter that sends her curls dancing. The little dragon presses close, her chill breath stirring the neckline of Flora’s sweater the Queen strokes her absentmindedly with a manicured fingertip. "Good job," she murmurs, too soft to be smug, and steps further into the alley.
Not all the way in; just enough that her sandals kiss the edge of the frost but that her scent—salt-sweet with a twist of jasmine—doesn’t crowd the cub. Her gaze flicks between Damien and Aria, taking in the slight shift in the cub’s stance, the tentative inching forward. The way her trembling body was still angled toward him.
Flora slides one of her rings free—the gold leafed one—whispering with warmth between her fingers. "Here, Damien." She extends her hand outward, careful not to reach too close, keeping the distance deliberate. "It’s a healing ring. You won’t need to do anything—just touch her with it while it’s on."
Flora steps back to let it pass, shifting just enough to avoid the sweep of its retreating tail. Her eyes never leave it, not until it disappears into the crowd again, just another shadow in the cluttered city. Then she whistles low and sharp, two fingers against her tongue.
Spice wheels in the sky, and then drops in a blur of frost-laced wings, landing neatly on her shoulder with a flutter that sends her curls dancing. The little dragon presses close, her chill breath stirring the neckline of Flora’s sweater the Queen strokes her absentmindedly with a manicured fingertip. "Good job," she murmurs, too soft to be smug, and steps further into the alley.
Not all the way in; just enough that her sandals kiss the edge of the frost but that her scent—salt-sweet with a twist of jasmine—doesn’t crowd the cub. Her gaze flicks between Damien and Aria, taking in the slight shift in the cub’s stance, the tentative inching forward. The way her trembling body was still angled toward him.
Flora slides one of her rings free—the gold leafed one—whispering with warmth between her fingers. "Here, Damien." She extends her hand outward, careful not to reach too close, keeping the distance deliberate. "It’s a healing ring. You won’t need to do anything—just touch her with it while it’s on."
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
