Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground
Her display draws oohs of wonder from the crowd and himself, attention tracking the climb of the fire dragon above her before its shape vanishes back into bright tongues. He can't help the quick glance her way to ensure she doesn't step out singed or smoking, but she's no more marred than he, and it seems she's always been made for the flame. Admiration works its way into the smile he flashes her, the touch deepening whenever they make eye contact, though he steals what secret glances he can amidst the crowd work. It's a sight to see, her on rampant display, as fearless and capable as ever. His chest swells as affection nestles in deeper.
It's only the return outcry from Firehawk that draws Iskra's attention off her for the time being, the roar of the crowd snapping him back to the matter at hand. The youth lines up his approach, regarding the bonbon fire with only a brief moment of trepidation before his resolve steels. He sprints down the land and plants one foot, leaping with all his might, hands spearing through heat in front of him. Flaming wings erupt in the boy's wake, flapping up and around, rising over as firehawk sails through to the otherside. The back of his shirt curls in a few spots where embers sorch into the thread, but Iskra snuffs them out before they grow.
"Firehawk, firehawk, firehawk!" Iskra offers forth a chant, the crowd seizing onto it and hoisting it up, bolstered to have one of their own climbing the ranks. Iskra sidles up beside Mel, leaning in to whisper as more contenders approach for their turn at round two. "Triple or nothing?"
It's only the return outcry from Firehawk that draws Iskra's attention off her for the time being, the roar of the crowd snapping him back to the matter at hand. The youth lines up his approach, regarding the bonbon fire with only a brief moment of trepidation before his resolve steels. He sprints down the land and plants one foot, leaping with all his might, hands spearing through heat in front of him. Flaming wings erupt in the boy's wake, flapping up and around, rising over as firehawk sails through to the otherside. The back of his shirt curls in a few spots where embers sorch into the thread, but Iskra snuffs them out before they grow.
"Firehawk, firehawk, firehawk!" Iskra offers forth a chant, the crowd seizing onto it and hoisting it up, bolstered to have one of their own climbing the ranks. Iskra sidles up beside Mel, leaning in to whisper as more contenders approach for their turn at round two. "Triple or nothing?"
Iskra
