Zavien
Smiling, he watches as Sol gives another chirp, tail wagging playfully behind him. Zavien can already feel the dragon's impatience, ready to be done with the work so they can get on with the food. A trail of thin gray smoke drifts up from his snout, making Zavien laugh as he explains to Colt, "Good. Sol gets smokey when he's hungry."
Always the dutiful Dragoon companion, the golden dragon doesn't let his anticipation for food keep him from assisting in the work. Any memory mud that thinks it can get the jump on his friends is met with a small, fiery blast and a trill of victory.
Colt's laughter has him glancing up from the work, a small grin on his face. "Don't sell yourself short. I'd say helping old ladies puts your bar pretty high." Shrugging his shoulders, he dumps a handful of woodchips into the mud. "And there's always time to get lost." There's a glint in the green of his eyes, brighter with the humor of experience.
Mixing the woodchips with the fidgeting wet mud, he listens to her own plans, wondering if he'll have any time in the coming seasons to assist in her efforts. Where he might have previously offered, he resists the urge to commit to something he may not be able to fulfill. Instead, he tilts his head, curious as he asks, "What's the difference between a bull and a steer?" Then he pulls the handle of his shovel, flattening out the earth beneath.
Thoughts of the rodeo seem simple enough. He remembers falling and laughing it off with Ronin, the wound to his pride worse thanthe physical injuries, and Lena... The familiar ache hits him when he recalls her gentle smile, healing him and offering her constant stream of encouragement despite the embarrassment.
Zavien swallows, lowering his head to push the shovel through another section of mud. "Maybe. We'll see."
*
Always the dutiful Dragoon companion, the golden dragon doesn't let his anticipation for food keep him from assisting in the work. Any memory mud that thinks it can get the jump on his friends is met with a small, fiery blast and a trill of victory.
Colt's laughter has him glancing up from the work, a small grin on his face. "Don't sell yourself short. I'd say helping old ladies puts your bar pretty high." Shrugging his shoulders, he dumps a handful of woodchips into the mud. "And there's always time to get lost." There's a glint in the green of his eyes, brighter with the humor of experience.
Mixing the woodchips with the fidgeting wet mud, he listens to her own plans, wondering if he'll have any time in the coming seasons to assist in her efforts. Where he might have previously offered, he resists the urge to commit to something he may not be able to fulfill. Instead, he tilts his head, curious as he asks, "What's the difference between a bull and a steer?" Then he pulls the handle of his shovel, flattening out the earth beneath.
Thoughts of the rodeo seem simple enough. He remembers falling and laughing it off with Ronin, the wound to his pride worse thanthe physical injuries, and Lena... The familiar ache hits him when he recalls her gentle smile, healing him and offering her constant stream of encouragement despite the embarrassment.
Zavien swallows, lowering his head to push the shovel through another section of mud. "Maybe. We'll see."
*
We wear our scars as proof
that we are still alive.
