The pain in his ears, a leftover gift from the blistering winds that plagued the tundras on Roenden's far reaches, had not yet gone away. Molotov jerked his head to the side in an attempt to shoo it away, and when that didn't work, he shook his entire head. It didn't help, just as it hadn't the previous twenty, thirty, sixty times he'd done it since the wind had faded-- by now, the only reward he'd gotten for his efforts was a throbbing pain where his spine met his skull. Nonetheless, it wouldn't stop him from doing it again, and again, in a vain attempt to ease away the throbbing eardrums. Cold wind and Molotov's ears had never gotten along; the cemetery, shielded on all sides by thick trees, guarded him from the worst of it. He should've covered them, stuffed cotton down them... something.
Vitalus' warmth was a welcome betrayal, even if summer's heat wouldn't suit him-- and he'd hoped the moisture in the air would help sooth his current dilemma. Maybe it still would.
The ground grew rocky as he approached his destination; the edge of a mountain, crudely drawn on his map by a blacksmith who'd been here before and knew the way. He squinted upward, blinded by the Silver Province's sun-drenched crown. Vitalus' defining feature, the Silver Province, reflected the sun's light in a thousand directions, casting the main portion of the continent into light brighter than any other had ever seen. Mol's eyes dropped back down, grateful for the shadows that the mountain provided, for the dark greys and greens. Paws aching for rest milled over the path, until at last the cavern's now infamous opening - and a familiar face - came into view.
A sigh escaped him at the sight, and he shook his head again, legs eating up the remaining distance. The puller's sides drew his eye as they always did, red dragon dancing its way across them in an angry slash. Scarlet eyes met his black ones, unease etching lines on Molotov's face. Another ear twitch, begging for release. He forced himself to still.
**"Flemyng."** he rasped, voice hoarse from misuse. He didn't speak much during the waking hours. **"We meet once more."**
Eternityspool Staff Member
The pain in his ears, a leftover gift from the blistering winds that plagued the tundras on Roenden's far reaches, had not yet gone away. Molotov jerked his head to the side in an attempt to shoo it away, and when that didn't work, he shook his entire head. It didn't help, just as it hadn't the previous twenty, thirty, sixty times he'd done it since the wind had faded-- by now, the only reward he'd gotten for his efforts was a throbbing pain where his spine met his skull. Nonetheless, it wouldn't stop him from doing it again, and again, in a vain attempt to ease away the throbbing eardrums. Cold wind and Molotov's ears had never gotten along; the cemetery, shielded on all sides by thick trees, guarded him from the worst of it. He should've covered them, stuffed cotton down them... something. Vitalus' warmth was a welcome betrayal, even if summer's heat wouldn't suit him-- and he'd hoped the moisture in the air would help sooth his current dilemma. Maybe it still would. The ground grew rocky as he approached his destination; the edge of a mountain, crudely drawn on his map by a blacksmith who'd been here before and knew the way. He squinted upward, blinded by the Silver Province's sun-drenched crown. Vitalus' defining feature, the Silver Province, reflected the sun's light in a thousand directions, casting the main portion of the continent into light brighter than any other had ever seen. Mol's eyes dropped back down, grateful for the shadows that the mountain provided, for the dark greys and greens. Paws aching for rest milled over the path, until at last the cavern's now infamous opening - and a familiar face - came into view. A sigh escaped him at the sight, and he shook his head again, legs eating up the remaining distance. The puller's sides drew his eye as they always did, red dragon dancing its way across them in an angry slash. Scarlet eyes met his black ones, unease etching lines on Molotov's face. Another ear twitch, begging for release. He forced himself to still. **"Flemyng."** he rasped, voice hoarse from misuse. He didn't speak much during the waking hours. **"We meet once more."**
2024-02-11 06:35:03 (Edited 2024-02-11 06:35:31)
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