A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
Iskra isn't the only young man with an insufferable companion who loves the beach. Winter has brought Pipsqueak to a new level of noodley nonsense, her nature as wild and unruly as her thick coat of oil-slick fur. It is all Koa can do to keep up with her; the little wyrm is energy incarnate, claws tearing grooves in the cold, dark sand, jaws snapping eagerly as she tries to eat an errant leaf.
Koa watches from a distance behind her, as unimpressed as his companion is delighted. Lacking a fur coat of his own, the young Dragoon has been forced to bundle up as best he can, with layers of flannel and fur obscuring his tanned physique. Copper-glinted eyes glare out from over a deep blue scarf, more amused and resigned than truly angry. He can feel Pipsqueak's exhilaration through their shared bond, and it keeps him from sinking into any real aggravation, even as cold bites his nose.
Another sound, keening, breaks the calm repetition of the surf, and before Koa can caution her against it the dragon is off in pursuit. A curse snarled into the depths of his scarf the Dragoon sets off after, boots unsteady in the shifting sand as he runs along the shore. "Pip!" he calls, muffled, as the dragon bounds and glides, large wings splayed to catch the breeze in as close a facsimile of flying as she can pull off. Ahead, a dog bounds through the water, massive compared to the miniscule dragon and yet clearly the beast feels no qualms. She stops close by, snout to the ground and long tail in the air, a puff of smoke blown from her nostrils as she tilts her head and wiggles her wings in a universal display of Wanna play?
Koa, too, falls into a stop, his gaze cast around for the keeper of the mutt. There-- and he raises a hand in weary greeting, pulling his scarf down to reveal a weary grin. "Hey!" the boy calls to the stranger, eyeing the bottle in his hands. "Sorry about Pipsqueak - she's impossible. Harmless, though," he adds pointedly, earning a squawk of indignation from the dragonling.
Koa watches from a distance behind her, as unimpressed as his companion is delighted. Lacking a fur coat of his own, the young Dragoon has been forced to bundle up as best he can, with layers of flannel and fur obscuring his tanned physique. Copper-glinted eyes glare out from over a deep blue scarf, more amused and resigned than truly angry. He can feel Pipsqueak's exhilaration through their shared bond, and it keeps him from sinking into any real aggravation, even as cold bites his nose.
Another sound, keening, breaks the calm repetition of the surf, and before Koa can caution her against it the dragon is off in pursuit. A curse snarled into the depths of his scarf the Dragoon sets off after, boots unsteady in the shifting sand as he runs along the shore. "Pip!" he calls, muffled, as the dragon bounds and glides, large wings splayed to catch the breeze in as close a facsimile of flying as she can pull off. Ahead, a dog bounds through the water, massive compared to the miniscule dragon and yet clearly the beast feels no qualms. She stops close by, snout to the ground and long tail in the air, a puff of smoke blown from her nostrils as she tilts her head and wiggles her wings in a universal display of Wanna play?
Koa, too, falls into a stop, his gaze cast around for the keeper of the mutt. There-- and he raises a hand in weary greeting, pulling his scarf down to reveal a weary grin. "Hey!" the boy calls to the stranger, eyeing the bottle in his hands. "Sorry about Pipsqueak - she's impossible. Harmless, though," he adds pointedly, earning a squawk of indignation from the dragonling.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
