unwilling poet

Although Nostromo looked forward to the rewards that completing this trial would give him, he wasn’t entirely sure it was worth the price he needed to pay. Betrayal he could stomach, helping another with their trial was all well and good, but the rhyming? He hadn’t spoken a word in the last two days since discovering that terrible little curse. Which, really, was hardly out of character - he didn’t talk much as it was - but at least when he was silent normally it was by his own choice. He had come to the cliffs in the forest to attempt to use his magic once more. Perhaps the miniature version of himself would fare better outside of the water and be more likely to follow his instructions. Out of glowing green light it appeared, a perfect replica of Nostromo about a foot in height at the shoulder. “Go to the tree there, while I enjoy the sea air.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them but they were followed by a loud roar of frustration and he reared - stomping out the life of the little formation and causing it to disappear in a small puff of smoke. His double-set of silver, gleaming teeth snapped in anger - his tail whipping dangerously behind him as he began to pace the cliff edge. He needed to be rid of this curse now.

art by littlewillow-art at deviantart.com

for @Tandavi