Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
His own version of summoning, compelling, that he’d yet to fully grasp or understand, lurched from the scene in the form of three medium sized birds, flying straight for the harpy eagle. He ducked away as claws and talons raked at his head, the sharp gestures digging along the side of his face, scratches and cuts that could be mended when everything was complete. While the cuts bled, the other birds attempted to distract the eagle, obnoxious efforts granted in trying to pluck at feathers, at its head, or anywhere else they could reach.
Meanwhile, the fire still extended from his tempestuous whims, ignoring the ichor sliding down his face, his gaze catching over the widening of Loren’s eyes (surprise, befuddlement, or just caught unawares?). Then there were other nuances and noises, and he glanced along his shoulder to watch the rush of the Oasis exploding into the air, the water pummeling, funneling, towards him, fire extinguished in its berth and haste. Waves with embellished steam foamed and frothed towards him, and with utmost appreciation for other efforts and powers, he smirked.
In another time, in another place, he might have admired the ability, the notions of control of the potent substance – how his mother had employed similar efforts, how Huyana had manifested the rain – but it wasn’t the right opportunity to savor the juncture of seas and water. Instead, he shifted again, hoping to be out of the harpy eagle’s sights, rising back into the air to avoid the massive tide rolling its potent way, sweeping turns, gliding armaments from above, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.
Meanwhile, the fire still extended from his tempestuous whims, ignoring the ichor sliding down his face, his gaze catching over the widening of Loren’s eyes (surprise, befuddlement, or just caught unawares?). Then there were other nuances and noises, and he glanced along his shoulder to watch the rush of the Oasis exploding into the air, the water pummeling, funneling, towards him, fire extinguished in its berth and haste. Waves with embellished steam foamed and frothed towards him, and with utmost appreciation for other efforts and powers, he smirked.
In another time, in another place, he might have admired the ability, the notions of control of the potent substance – how his mother had employed similar efforts, how Huyana had manifested the rain – but it wasn’t the right opportunity to savor the juncture of seas and water. Instead, he shifted again, hoping to be out of the harpy eagle’s sights, rising back into the air to avoid the massive tide rolling its potent way, sweeping turns, gliding armaments from above, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.
DEIMOS
