KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
His thoughts were blissfully free in the moment, focused mainly on placing one foot in front of the other and on the scenery that slowly drifted past. That all came to an abrupt end when a sound reached him, of wind rushing over great wings. But it was too loud, too vast, and too close; looking up, he saw a giant gray shadow break through the clouds, and purely on instinct the young man crouched down.
It was a dragon. Huge, silver-scaled, and it came flying straight towards him. It was all he could do not to run, fearing that any sudden movements might draw the creatures attention. Hiding was out of the question too; he was standing too far away from any rocks, trees or crevices that might shelter him from view. Heart racing, he felt the ground shake beneath his feet as the dragon landed, and without much hope of it doing him any good, Korbin reached for his dagger.
Then, without warning, the creature turned its eyes on him. He heard words form in his mind, and balked at the touch, expecting something terrible, something vast and ancient in the mind that brushed against his.
But... there was only the words. A faint sense of hesitation.
"... I hear you," he replied, voice hoarse and unsteady, spoken by one who couldn't hear himself. Whatever richness in timbre or tone he might've possessed before was made flat and wavering, rough from disuse.
It felt better to speak than to shift. Korbin preferred to have at least one trick to fall back on if this dragon felt like turning him into dinner.
"What do you want, dragon?" The tension in his voice, in his stance, was palpable. Ready for anything - to fight, or flee, or strike whatever bargain necessary to make his way out of this alive.
It was a dragon. Huge, silver-scaled, and it came flying straight towards him. It was all he could do not to run, fearing that any sudden movements might draw the creatures attention. Hiding was out of the question too; he was standing too far away from any rocks, trees or crevices that might shelter him from view. Heart racing, he felt the ground shake beneath his feet as the dragon landed, and without much hope of it doing him any good, Korbin reached for his dagger.
Then, without warning, the creature turned its eyes on him. He heard words form in his mind, and balked at the touch, expecting something terrible, something vast and ancient in the mind that brushed against his.
But... there was only the words. A faint sense of hesitation.
"... I hear you," he replied, voice hoarse and unsteady, spoken by one who couldn't hear himself. Whatever richness in timbre or tone he might've possessed before was made flat and wavering, rough from disuse.
It felt better to speak than to shift. Korbin preferred to have at least one trick to fall back on if this dragon felt like turning him into dinner.
"What do you want, dragon?" The tension in his voice, in his stance, was palpable. Ready for anything - to fight, or flee, or strike whatever bargain necessary to make his way out of this alive.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
