He had finished for the day, hidden away, out of sight and out of mind, quickly realizing that the tides of these lands had changed. The odor of death hung in the air, with tens of thousands lost, yet the humans were now in the process of rebuilding, casting blame on others for the calamity. But he was indifferent, lost in sleep. It wasn't the heavy, still slumber of stone, but rather a rhythmic ebb and flow of warmth and breath.
Each exhale sent a shimmering ripple through the salt-laden air, distorting the horizon like a crafted lens. He dreamt of the updrafts over the Stepstones, the kind of wind that not only carries a wing but propels it, demanding a fierce motion to conquer.
Deep in his subconscious, his claws twitched, scraping against the limestone with a sound reminiscent of grinding tectonic plates, though he remained firmly anchored to the pale earth.
As he exhaled, the war had ended, yet he was content to stay here, asleep. The memory of the Dance, the howling skies, the scent of charred stone, and the intense, searing heat of dragonfire, had finally settled into a dull throb, like an old injury that only ached when the weather changed.
He didn't miss the urgency of the call, the way his heart would pound against his ribs in rhythm with the war drums, or the burden of a rider demanding the horizon be scorched. Now, the only demand was the tide, which asked for nothing more than the space it already occupied.
As he stirred, his eyes remained closed for a moment longer. He let out a deep yawn, a slow, cavernous stretch that released a plume of sulfurous smoke, curling gracefully like a ribbon toward the pale blue sky. As he moved, his tail flicked, a sudden, rhythmic lash that cracked against the limestone.
The impact was not violent, yet it was precise, sending a shower of salt crystals dancing into the air and nudging a stray piece of driftwood back into the surf. He felt the familiar itch of movement in his muscles, the gradual awakening of a body designed for the heights of the sky, now settling into the serene embrace of a long-forgotten peace. Even before he heard it, he caught a whiff of something else in the air; something was nearby.
@forgaeven
