we're born at night, so much of our life
As they continue around the stinking pools, Danta can't even blame Asta for his continued growls of discontent; the gore grow doesn't dare take to the air in case the stench gets worse the higher he flies, opting instead to get as comfortable as possible between the fyrhund's shoulder blades. The pools seem to stretch on forever, shimmering and bubbling across a hazy expanse of the desert, but he knows, beyond that, they ought to be on the home stretch. (That is, back to their colourful little campsite).
Still, he has no idea how long it's going to take Asta to traverse the Sunshine Pools in this shape, and so after a few minutes of bumbling along on the fyrhund's back with his head shoved beneath one wing, Danta has had enough. Croaking his discontent at last, the crow flaps away and lands between two of the pools, shaking himself off - and then promptly beginning to shift into something much scalier and much larger.
Perhaps fleeing the sulphur will be good motivation for Asta to perfect his dragon flying, no?
Still, he has no idea how long it's going to take Asta to traverse the Sunshine Pools in this shape, and so after a few minutes of bumbling along on the fyrhund's back with his head shoved beneath one wing, Danta has had enough. Croaking his discontent at last, the crow flaps away and lands between two of the pools, shaking himself off - and then promptly beginning to shift into something much scalier and much larger.
Perhaps fleeing the sulphur will be good motivation for Asta to perfect his dragon flying, no?
Dantalion
is just carvin' through the dark
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
