Midas is king and he holds me so tight
She's there: her presence brushes against his mind again, and his eye finds her, another star in the sky. She's still with him, still flying, though her hare's gone—Aamu's dragon-heart slowly ceases its anxious thundering in his chest, and as the pressure ebbs from his veins he feels... tired. Worn; spent.Hearts and organs are such strange things to him now, but he misses the scents. He misses the sunlight.
I don't know. It is the words he hates to say, because he hates to not have answers. Hates to guess. Hates to wonder. Grips his dead moushroom tighter and glides along, slowly descending again.
The Barrows aren't as plentiful of prey as Meadowreach, but surely they can find something here, too?
Aside from the obvious: we were teleported. He gives his head an uncomfortable shake. But I don't think it was Her. She'd know who he meant: the Voice, their strange mother of a sort. This had been wild and untamed, full of color and life, and not the ether fog of her dimension.
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
Aamu
