Midas is king and he holds me so tight
He slips lower on the current, a slow descent, his large form sweeping over the graves of King's End. They are barrows. Graves for the kings of old, I believe. It smells of spring, of fresh, rain-wet earth and budding flowers, and of the cold sky. Aamu closes his eyes as he inhales, fog-breath streaming out in a burst from his nostrils again.He spirals lower and lower, unsure of how to respond. And the world, closer now, is so tantalizing with all its scents and impressions, and he hungers to take it all in his jaws and devour it—
He wishes the sun would not burn him still.
I don't know, he finally admits, dipping his claws into the early tulips as he glides over the colorful meadow. I just like it here.
A couple of startled blink hares disappear underneath him, arcing out of sight and into their burrows; his head snaps in their direction but he makes no move to follow, beating his wings to gain altitude again, climbing back towards the stars. Want to hunt? he asks with the mental equivalent of a lazy grin, mirrored by the slight display of fangs.
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
Aamu
