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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Cold
Open Solanis 
Gwyn
Currently championing:
#4


GWYN
uh-oh, running out of breath, but I
oh, I, I got stamina


The sound of the man rising from his bed is loud enough that Gwyn stops, her head tilting back with moderate interest, at first, but then followed in full by the rest of her body, skittering swiftly on her hooves. Her eyes are wide with wonder and fright as she beholds not only the fact that the man she has disturbed is a behemoth, but that he is part dragon. The fire flickers across her dark features as she considers this new reality.

Gwyn is a child of the north. Her father and grandmother were both attacked by dragons, and her grandsires had confronted them on fields of battle, and lost their ancestral home to them. The stories about dragons that the filly had heard painted both dragons and dragon-kin in a light that promptly set the girl’s knees to shivering with fear, rather than the cold, and despite the man’s initial friendliness, the girl recalls each and every one of those stories in clear detail.

You’re a dragon!” she frightfully stammers, before he can accuse her, too, of being weird, and while the baubles tangled through his hair still clamor to their musical stop. When he does, her ears that had been lifted for full focus on the danger before her, slip back to partial mast, at first in confusion, then in frustration at having the tables so turned on her. It didn’t change the fact that he was a dragon, either.

Fortunately, she is a child of the north. Brave, bold, and clever, the maiden’s dark ears flick back as she considers the alternate truth that he hadn’t attacked her yet. Perhaps, like many of her father’s stories, the tales of dragons were painted by his bruised ego, rather than the truth. If the stranger was at all like her dad's stories, he surely would have got her already, besides, considering the way she’d muttered about him as she’d passed, and she was lonely. It had been many days since she had met Taivas at the ghost tree, and it was that many days more than the filly had ever been alone in all her life.

Yeah, well, it’s not like I want to be,” she remarks, her fiery stick bobbing with her syllables. Her frown is obvious, an as the prickling of tears in the corner of her eyes starts to build, she turns back around towards the nook she’d spotted, not wanting the stranger to see her cry.

Whether he does or not, she doesn’t know, but his offering to share the space he’d found draws her attention back around, and is a distraction enough to dry up her forming tears. She wasn’t sure about snuggling up with some strange man, or what her dad would think about it, but the reason for the offer becomes perfectly clear when the dragon-fellow mentions her fire. Smiling around her stick, the smug sort of smile that a brat wears when they have something the babysitter desperately needs, the filly releases a small whinny of laughter. He was right, though, her stick was slowly whittling down, and the heat was beginning to be noticeable on her nose.

You don’t breathe fire?” she asks, “dragons are supposed to.

Despite her seeming noncompliance, the girl does move closer towards the large tree, beneath which the behemoth had curled himself. He’s not all together wrong; it is a large space. Gwyn, however, isn’t big on touching, let alone touching strangers. Still, he was right about the Rift; it wasn’t safe, and it was likely safer with him. That she had something he probably wanted pretty badly only sweetened the deal enough to make dealing with some punk kid worth it, and she had no real idea how to make a fire, besides. She sighs as she decides that there were worse ways to spend an evening than with a friendly dragon-man.

I’m not snugglin’ with you,” she decrees, with all the air of expecting it to be followed that a once-princess should, “but we can share the fire. Maybe then you won’t have to hide under leaves, and get stepped on.

Her glance is playful and followed by a brief giggle. After digging a small, earthen furrow for her stick to rest in, and hopefully not flicker out, she moves towards the surrounding tree line, ducking her head under shrubs and lifting up old trunks in search of wood that wasn’t coated in the terrible ice that seemed to besiege all things in the bitter winter of the Rift. Finding a few pieces, her ears swivel back to catch the question of the stranger, but she doesn’t answer for some time, even after she’s drug her findings back to her dying candle stick and has begun to break them up into smaller pieces with her hooves.

I don’t know,” she says at last, the sound almost a whisper.


Image by Jody Roberts@Flickr
I'm just wild
so sit the f#@k down

please tag gwyn for opening posts & mentions in group threads only


Messages In This Thread
Cold - by Roscorro - 11-05-2017, 11:50 PM
RE: Cold - by Gwyn - 11-06-2017, 03:05 PM
RE: Cold - by Roscorro - 11-06-2017, 10:29 PM
RE: Cold - by Gwyn - 11-07-2017, 02:42 PM
RE: Cold - by Roscorro - 11-08-2017, 01:44 AM
RE: Cold - by Gwyn - 11-09-2017, 02:02 PM
RE: Cold - by Roscorro - 11-10-2017, 05:15 AM
RE: Cold - by Gwyn - 11-16-2017, 02:21 PM
RE: Cold - by Roscorro - 11-26-2017, 02:39 AM
RE: Cold - by Gwyn - 11-30-2017, 04:06 PM
RE: Cold - by Roscorro - 12-18-2017, 03:17 AM