Rainforest Cliffs
He hurts. Everything hurts. From his shoulder and face, burnt by the lava he emits that now appears to burn him, to the white-hot scald in the depths of his mind that he can't shake no matter how hard he tries. The yearling knows nothing but a whirlwind of pain, relieved only when he thinks about the tasks that pulse inside his brain - share three secrets. Help someone with their trial. Help another tell a destructive lie.
None of those things are in the volcano-boy's nature. He doesn't keep many secrets - he doesn't understand them - and he doesn't tell lies. He doesn't know how to help somebody, because he doesn't possess the empathy required. Everything that the pain has given him is impossible for him to achieve, and yet he must else his mind burn for eternity. As though it is not enough that he is cast into a hideous new routine, into strangeness and lack of order where nothing fits into his strict mental schedule, he now has to deal with this. He's flying haphazardly through the forest, a thin stream of lava oozing from his shoulder as a result of his anguish. It burns everywhere it touches, and he unleashes an ungodly howl of agony that echoes through the trees. It feels good to scream, to bellow until his throat is raw with the sound, until it doesn't hurt quite so badly anymore. The yearling lands, stumbling slightly upon doing so, and stands with his sides heaving, his wings held at half-mast as he desperately tries to shake the torture inside his mind and upon his skin. |
@Kid
