04-15-2017, 01:33 AM
[align=center]dragonspectre
[size=16pt]⚔ excerpt
[div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; line-height: 15px;"]Looking into her eyes - large, slanted like a reptile's, and burning with rage, but inarguable her's - Zoya could feel the last of her hope draining like the rain when it fell off of the roof in steady droplets. There was no doubt about it that the scaled, serpentine creature crouched in front of her was her childhood friend, and that only made the fury bubbling in those eyes hurt more.
"Miska," she said quietly, though no recognition flickered in though predator eyes. She tried again, pulling off of her hood and stepping forward, the heat of the dragon's - her friend's - breath scorching through her hunting gear. "Miska, it's me. Don't be afraid."
How cruel of her, she thought. To tell the frightened and cornered dragon in front of her to not be afraid when the blades strapped to her thighs were stained with her kind's blood, when the proud emblem emblazened on her arm was a crude depiction of a dragon with a sword through its skull. But she had no choice - dragon or not, the thing in front of her was Miska. Miska, who had stayed by her side when nobody else would, who curled up with her by the dying kindles of the fire and let her cling to her like a child, who would whisper old Ozryn folktales when sleep refused to have mercy on her.
The dragon's nostrils flared, its sharp yellow eyes never leaving her, but she stepped no closer. Every inch of her scaled, muscle-laden body was taut with tension and strung with panic, like an animal battling over whether it should fight or flight. Zoya knew every weakness of that body - all she had to do was dive forward, under the dragon's lowered head, and leave a long, clean incision along her white throat and that would be it. The dragon terrorizing Gravenvale would be a carcass in seconds.
And Miska would be dead. Swallowing the lump of fear that had gathered in her throat, Zoya let her fingers drop from where they hovered on her blade and fell to her knees, pressing the heels of her palms to her knees and letting out a shaking breath. Miska's eyes tracked her nervously.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Zoya said through trembling lips, daring to glance up and see those bright yellow eyes wavering and cloudy. "We promised, didn't we? No casualties. No death."
The dragon let out a breath of hot air that made Zoya's skin blister, and then she dropped her head to the ground and closed her eyes. A rumbling sound came from the back of her throat, and it sounded like a mourning sound.
"I miss them, too," Zoya said, her heart thudding in her ears. "But at least I have you."
[size=16pt]⚔ excerpt
[div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; line-height: 15px;"]Looking into her eyes - large, slanted like a reptile's, and burning with rage, but inarguable her's - Zoya could feel the last of her hope draining like the rain when it fell off of the roof in steady droplets. There was no doubt about it that the scaled, serpentine creature crouched in front of her was her childhood friend, and that only made the fury bubbling in those eyes hurt more.
"Miska," she said quietly, though no recognition flickered in though predator eyes. She tried again, pulling off of her hood and stepping forward, the heat of the dragon's - her friend's - breath scorching through her hunting gear. "Miska, it's me. Don't be afraid."
How cruel of her, she thought. To tell the frightened and cornered dragon in front of her to not be afraid when the blades strapped to her thighs were stained with her kind's blood, when the proud emblem emblazened on her arm was a crude depiction of a dragon with a sword through its skull. But she had no choice - dragon or not, the thing in front of her was Miska. Miska, who had stayed by her side when nobody else would, who curled up with her by the dying kindles of the fire and let her cling to her like a child, who would whisper old Ozryn folktales when sleep refused to have mercy on her.
The dragon's nostrils flared, its sharp yellow eyes never leaving her, but she stepped no closer. Every inch of her scaled, muscle-laden body was taut with tension and strung with panic, like an animal battling over whether it should fight or flight. Zoya knew every weakness of that body - all she had to do was dive forward, under the dragon's lowered head, and leave a long, clean incision along her white throat and that would be it. The dragon terrorizing Gravenvale would be a carcass in seconds.
And Miska would be dead. Swallowing the lump of fear that had gathered in her throat, Zoya let her fingers drop from where they hovered on her blade and fell to her knees, pressing the heels of her palms to her knees and letting out a shaking breath. Miska's eyes tracked her nervously.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Zoya said through trembling lips, daring to glance up and see those bright yellow eyes wavering and cloudy. "We promised, didn't we? No casualties. No death."
The dragon let out a breath of hot air that made Zoya's skin blister, and then she dropped her head to the ground and closed her eyes. A rumbling sound came from the back of her throat, and it sounded like a mourning sound.
"I miss them, too," Zoya said, her heart thudding in her ears. "But at least I have you."
[align=center]you were the angel (i chained to the ground)
[size=6pt]find me at crittercosmos or tumblr!
[size=6pt]find me at crittercosmos or tumblr!