Loki's arrival into the drabwurld had been more of a trip into calamity than a graceful entrance. he had fallen straight into a battle that decimated Caer Scima, leaving the Unseelie scattered. the aftermath of that battle had included something of interest: the Jabberwelp, kept in the depths of the stronghold, was released, and began to spread her rot. he had spoken to her before her death, told her riddles to relieve her of a constant pain, but it had been for nothing; she died despite every effort.
it was one of his first memories in Allaidh Darach, and it remains a wound scabbed and held together with poor stitching.
there's no fear in him when Drogon descends from the fog to meet her call: he's not afraid of dragons. instead his hair is tossed and the lapels on his jacket ruffle from the wind, he tips his head to watch something unfold in front of him like a scene in a play, or an artist finishing a painting. it's like something out of myth and story with the tips of her fingers reaching toward something that she knew was lying like fire inside of her.
thus, he can't stop himself. ]
All for the better, yet ... [ for them; for her. ] How would you feel about going a bit higher? [ a smile twists from the something on his lips, and he offers her a hand. ] It'll be fun.
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Loki's arrival into the drabwurld had been more of a trip into calamity than a graceful entrance. he had fallen straight into a battle that decimated Caer Scima, leaving the Unseelie scattered. the aftermath of that battle had included something of interest: the Jabberwelp, kept in the depths of the stronghold, was released, and began to spread her rot. he had spoken to her before her death, told her riddles to relieve her of a constant pain, but it had been for nothing; she died despite every effort.
it was one of his first memories in Allaidh Darach, and it remains a wound scabbed and held together with poor stitching.
there's no fear in him when Drogon descends from the fog to meet her call: he's not afraid of dragons. instead his hair is tossed and the lapels on his jacket ruffle from the wind, he tips his head to watch something unfold in front of him like a scene in a play, or an artist finishing a painting. it's like something out of myth and story with the tips of her fingers reaching toward something that she knew was lying like fire inside of her.
thus, he can't stop himself. ]
All for the better, yet ... [ for them; for her. ] How would you feel about going a bit higher? [ a smile twists from the something on his lips, and he offers her a hand. ] It'll be fun.