Tar Pits
12-30-2017, 06:17 PM
If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
A roar issued from his stomach answers Taivas's question before the dragon can speak. As one might expect, no visible change appears on her face at the noise, not even a muffled version of surprise.
His own words are fragile and delicate, barely heard over the hiss and sizzle of the tar they stood beside. In response to his thanks, Taivas offers a silent nod, but little else. She watches him carefully, with worry still nestled in her mind, for Roscorro hardly seemed the type to become desolate with little reason. She would assume his appearance might have garnered him few friends in his former home, based on his calm acceptance of her own reaction on their first meeting.
Now, however, the shaman wonders why she had been afraid. The massive face lined with horns looked soft and gentle to her. Ah, how friendship could change the appearance of others so drastically. He resembled no predator, no frightful soul, and no monster she had faced in her nightmares. The difference warm familiarity could make.
Another angry growl resonated between them and the girl expects what he will say. A knowing smile paints a thin line on her face as he admits to being hungry, and Taivas shifts to looking about them to locate some form of nourishment. The Tar Pits existed amid desolate sands, and the much of the Rift remained buried under snow and ice. Before she can develop a fully laid plan, her attention is stolen back to the behemoth trapped upon the floor.
She watches with mournful eyes as he attempts and fails to stand, and immediately begins to formulate a different strategy in her mind.
Walking toward the side between Roscorro and the pit of unfriendly goo, she kneels once more toward the ground and attempts to place her shoulder between his barrel and the sand, as he had succeeded in partially lifting himself from the earth. Her face snakes out from under a large wing to get a good look at his face, her own painted with pallid determination. "Ready?" she asks, her voice calm, but she does not wait long for a reply. Instead, she takes her meager strength and forces herself upward, launching much of her power toward lifting her friend from the earth.
She did not have the physical strength of her grandmother or mother, but the same blood flowed through her veins. Now, Taivas called upon that hidden fortitude to aid someone much heavier than herself.
Whatever worked, she supposed.
His own words are fragile and delicate, barely heard over the hiss and sizzle of the tar they stood beside. In response to his thanks, Taivas offers a silent nod, but little else. She watches him carefully, with worry still nestled in her mind, for Roscorro hardly seemed the type to become desolate with little reason. She would assume his appearance might have garnered him few friends in his former home, based on his calm acceptance of her own reaction on their first meeting.
Now, however, the shaman wonders why she had been afraid. The massive face lined with horns looked soft and gentle to her. Ah, how friendship could change the appearance of others so drastically. He resembled no predator, no frightful soul, and no monster she had faced in her nightmares. The difference warm familiarity could make.
Another angry growl resonated between them and the girl expects what he will say. A knowing smile paints a thin line on her face as he admits to being hungry, and Taivas shifts to looking about them to locate some form of nourishment. The Tar Pits existed amid desolate sands, and the much of the Rift remained buried under snow and ice. Before she can develop a fully laid plan, her attention is stolen back to the behemoth trapped upon the floor.
She watches with mournful eyes as he attempts and fails to stand, and immediately begins to formulate a different strategy in her mind.
Walking toward the side between Roscorro and the pit of unfriendly goo, she kneels once more toward the ground and attempts to place her shoulder between his barrel and the sand, as he had succeeded in partially lifting himself from the earth. Her face snakes out from under a large wing to get a good look at his face, her own painted with pallid determination. "Ready?" she asks, her voice calm, but she does not wait long for a reply. Instead, she takes her meager strength and forces herself upward, launching much of her power toward lifting her friend from the earth.
She did not have the physical strength of her grandmother or mother, but the same blood flowed through her veins. Now, Taivas called upon that hidden fortitude to aid someone much heavier than herself.
Whatever worked, she supposed.
When I turn jet black, and you show off your light
I live to let you shine
I live to let you shine
Taivas
