03-11-2019, 11:16 PM
//OOC
Wait, where are you going? The words were shouted after him, but he didn't have time to stop and decrypt what was said. Instincts screamed ceaselessly- his fear told him he had no choice but to obey. What was next? Should he take the time to stop and check for more humans? What about his den? His books...
The wet pounding of feet in mud slowed to sticky steps, which then halted completely. His books. His den- his stuff. Was it okay? They didn't take his stuff, did they? What if they were waiting there for him? A painful throb streaking through his wing offered a grim reminder that his escape possibilities were limited. Hopelessness was creeping in from all sides. The dragon sniffed, lifting a hand and wiping his nose, which only succeeded in smearing more mud on his face. It clung to his body, sapping his dwindling body heat, but he knew the water would be too cold to clean himself with. A clouded breath wavered in the air. Taking his chances and going back to the den was probably his only choice at the moment. He needed to collect his things and warm up.
Climbing the gentle slope and getting further from the river, the mud finally changed to solid ground. Unfortunately for him, the snow did not. At one point snow fell from a tree and landed on his back, earning a mixed and startled squeak. With a vigorous shake and a disgruntled huff, he picked up the pace until he reached the crudely hand-dug hole in the ground. Anxiously peeking around, the reptile quickly vanished inside.
Peering around the dimly lit space, he wasn't surprised - but was disappointed - that it was just as cold as the open air outside. Another breath billowed and dissipated. Adrenaline having faded, he was left with a sense of returning exhaustion and invading pain from various scrapes and injuries, greatest of all being a snapped bone.
Mud, drying into caked dirt, began to crack and flake off around his joints as he stepped onto an old and dirty blanket, upon which were a few stacks of hand-bound books. Scraping them to the center of the woven fabric, he tied it up into a makeshift bag. Sitting back and mentally preparing himself for another long journey, this time in the cold, he found it getting difficult to stay awake. Scooting to a wall adjacent to the exit, he pulled the bag-blanket close, untying it to cover himself. He lay on his side, pulling the blanket close. Drifting off, he found himself resenting the hunters who had discovered his hole. A month or so longer, and he would have awoken to warm spring sunlight. But here he was, injured and cold, and still tired... How stupid...
[align=center]ATTACK IN BOLD #6e65b5 - TAGSWait, where are you going? The words were shouted after him, but he didn't have time to stop and decrypt what was said. Instincts screamed ceaselessly- his fear told him he had no choice but to obey. What was next? Should he take the time to stop and check for more humans? What about his den? His books...
The wet pounding of feet in mud slowed to sticky steps, which then halted completely. His books. His den- his stuff. Was it okay? They didn't take his stuff, did they? What if they were waiting there for him? A painful throb streaking through his wing offered a grim reminder that his escape possibilities were limited. Hopelessness was creeping in from all sides. The dragon sniffed, lifting a hand and wiping his nose, which only succeeded in smearing more mud on his face. It clung to his body, sapping his dwindling body heat, but he knew the water would be too cold to clean himself with. A clouded breath wavered in the air. Taking his chances and going back to the den was probably his only choice at the moment. He needed to collect his things and warm up.
Climbing the gentle slope and getting further from the river, the mud finally changed to solid ground. Unfortunately for him, the snow did not. At one point snow fell from a tree and landed on his back, earning a mixed and startled squeak. With a vigorous shake and a disgruntled huff, he picked up the pace until he reached the crudely hand-dug hole in the ground. Anxiously peeking around, the reptile quickly vanished inside.
Peering around the dimly lit space, he wasn't surprised - but was disappointed - that it was just as cold as the open air outside. Another breath billowed and dissipated. Adrenaline having faded, he was left with a sense of returning exhaustion and invading pain from various scrapes and injuries, greatest of all being a snapped bone.
Mud, drying into caked dirt, began to crack and flake off around his joints as he stepped onto an old and dirty blanket, upon which were a few stacks of hand-bound books. Scraping them to the center of the woven fabric, he tied it up into a makeshift bag. Sitting back and mentally preparing himself for another long journey, this time in the cold, he found it getting difficult to stay awake. Scooting to a wall adjacent to the exit, he pulled the bag-blanket close, untying it to cover himself. He lay on his side, pulling the blanket close. Drifting off, he found himself resenting the hunters who had discovered his hole. A month or so longer, and he would have awoken to warm spring sunlight. But here he was, injured and cold, and still tired... How stupid...
![[Image: squawk.gif]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/405754444454559756/423199229599547418/squawk.gif)
THE DANGER DOESN’T REGISTER ,
THE FEAR FEELS LIKE AN ACT !
dragon — emotionless — tags — typhoon — roleplayed by cakie !