Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
02.Aug.22, 01:32 AM
The dragons had mostly stopped humming by the time the dragonets started spilling onto the sands. Obennin had not. He'd spent the evening shifting from foot to foot, vocal chords thrumming the chopping line of notes that had accompanied all his youthful antics. It didn't have as much punch as it used to. Of course, there used to be a second part he never sang anymore.
He stopped his song and cheered along and oohed and aahed with every crackle. He clapped more enthusiastically than many at the first leathern head. Oben had stood so many times on the hot stands, he knew the drill at this point. Knew it so well that some part of his brain (probably the part that kept his theme song churning in his throat) kept him smiling and making all the appropriate noises while another part of him slowly sank into a panic.
It was during Hatchings, after all, that Oben had to try hardest not to stay mad at his sister. She had to be right that it was okay for her to have left without him, that he was still meant to tame the skies even if that meant without her. Each tiny dragon that found its mate, Oben crooned with the crowd, beaming and congratulating. He cheered for Mylorah and her golden nugget, pouting a little that the highlight was over so quickly, and trying to hide the sad, building resentment.
What if his sister was wrong? What if he wasn't meant to be a dragon rider, and he was just wasting his time here, getting old, being useless?
Oben cut his humming off once more as a ruckus grew from a group of hatchlings congregating at the wall, he gasped as one green vaulted another up and over, then was up and over herself! People scrambled, a cacophony of shouts and pants as a path cleared for the dragonets.
"But..." Oben said half-hearted as he watched not one, but two of the little beasts he'd so hoped to impress go running off toward people who hadn't even wanted them. He wanted to melt into the sand. His sister was probably wrong. How much rejection did she expect a guy to take? "I'm standing right here..."
But you don't belong to any of them.
"Well, yeah, but I could..." he tried not to sound like a kicked wher as he said it.
Not really, but you could get me some food and take care of this itchy spot I can't reach...
"Huh?" Oben turned, looked down at the striking little blue thing at his feet, head tucked under his wing trying to gnaw at a patch on his back. Realization rushed in tingling waves down his scalp, skated through his veins to the very pit of his bellybutton. There was a high pitched keening in his ears, that intensified when the creature cocked its head like it could hear it, too.
O'in, you're making that noise out loud.
"Oh." He straightened, failing to keep the wide smile from stretching back across his face. The dragonet stared back at him expectantly.
"Hungry! Yes, right, right! This way, little guy."
Cunaguaroth chirped happily and followed his weyrling toward the food and oil. The smile never left O'in's face as he took in the rest of the evening's spectacles.
He stopped his song and cheered along and oohed and aahed with every crackle. He clapped more enthusiastically than many at the first leathern head. Oben had stood so many times on the hot stands, he knew the drill at this point. Knew it so well that some part of his brain (probably the part that kept his theme song churning in his throat) kept him smiling and making all the appropriate noises while another part of him slowly sank into a panic.
It was during Hatchings, after all, that Oben had to try hardest not to stay mad at his sister. She had to be right that it was okay for her to have left without him, that he was still meant to tame the skies even if that meant without her. Each tiny dragon that found its mate, Oben crooned with the crowd, beaming and congratulating. He cheered for Mylorah and her golden nugget, pouting a little that the highlight was over so quickly, and trying to hide the sad, building resentment.
What if his sister was wrong? What if he wasn't meant to be a dragon rider, and he was just wasting his time here, getting old, being useless?
Oben cut his humming off once more as a ruckus grew from a group of hatchlings congregating at the wall, he gasped as one green vaulted another up and over, then was up and over herself! People scrambled, a cacophony of shouts and pants as a path cleared for the dragonets.
"But..." Oben said half-hearted as he watched not one, but two of the little beasts he'd so hoped to impress go running off toward people who hadn't even wanted them. He wanted to melt into the sand. His sister was probably wrong. How much rejection did she expect a guy to take? "I'm standing right here..."
But you don't belong to any of them.
"Well, yeah, but I could..." he tried not to sound like a kicked wher as he said it.
Not really, but you could get me some food and take care of this itchy spot I can't reach...
"Huh?" Oben turned, looked down at the striking little blue thing at his feet, head tucked under his wing trying to gnaw at a patch on his back. Realization rushed in tingling waves down his scalp, skated through his veins to the very pit of his bellybutton. There was a high pitched keening in his ears, that intensified when the creature cocked its head like it could hear it, too.
O'in, you're making that noise out loud.
"Oh." He straightened, failing to keep the wide smile from stretching back across his face. The dragonet stared back at him expectantly.
"Hungry! Yes, right, right! This way, little guy."
Cunaguaroth chirped happily and followed his weyrling toward the food and oil. The smile never left O'in's face as he took in the rest of the evening's spectacles.
