The wind ripped at Noah’s feathers as he flew, the warmth of the air melting into even the dense mantle of his griffin form. I see it, he answered through the bond, a low thrum of unease carried alongside his words. Smoke was wrong here. Wrong in a way that set his instincts bristling, hackles lifting along his spine as his keen eyes followed where Deimos indicated. A dark vein against the pale sky, curling up from stone that should have known only stone and salt.
It was interesting to him how seeing this smoke, this fire, could make him feel. When in Halo it meant life and sustaining, and he even now held the embers of massive plumes of fire within his chest. His wings adjusted automatically, angling them closer, drawing him into a tighter formation beside the Sword. Below them the broken isles looked like old wounds half-scabbed over, jagged and uneven. The smoke was thick enough to suggest more than a stray spark, more than a foolish traveler’s camp. It rose steadily, stubbornly, as if fed and tended.
It was interesting to him how seeing this smoke, this fire, could make him feel. When in Halo it meant life and sustaining, and he even now held the embers of massive plumes of fire within his chest. His wings adjusted automatically, angling them closer, drawing him into a tighter formation beside the Sword. Below them the broken isles looked like old wounds half-scabbed over, jagged and uneven. The smoke was thick enough to suggest more than a stray spark, more than a foolish traveler’s camp. It rose steadily, stubbornly, as if fed and tended.
noah
you touched my heavy heart and made it light
