MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
He dreams a lot, really. But this time it feels different, more encompassing as one dream shifts away to the next, a blanket of white fog that blots out anything he thinks he might have seen. He closes his eyes, uncertainty laced within him at the fact that if he opens his eyes again the landscape may have changed. The only thing that changes when he does is the incessant tug on him.
Perhaps he needs to get to the end of it, arms flailing a bit in the thick fog, legs taking him forward and forward again, a hand rising to summon a bird to help him scout, waiting and watching for what might be what draws him to it. The bird dives, spiraling through the fog, eyes bright and watchful, a scout for the smuggler.
Milo uses his summoning magic to summon a bird to help scout for the pearl!
Perhaps he needs to get to the end of it, arms flailing a bit in the thick fog, legs taking him forward and forward again, a hand rising to summon a bird to help him scout, waiting and watching for what might be what draws him to it. The bird dives, spiraling through the fog, eyes bright and watchful, a scout for the smuggler.
Milo uses his summoning magic to summon a bird to help scout for the pearl!
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
