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Lazy Mornings, Open!
Posted: Feb 27 2018, 03:33 AM
Joined: 27-February 18
Cyrene and Blue Yahtoaandaleeth
To anyone looking from Star Island, Yahtoaandaleeth might have been mistaken for a bird, diving to the surf for fish. He was several miles out to sea and riderless, in he flew in slow looping arcs high above the sea, punctuated by repeated steep swoops. Whenever he reached the waves, a flash of white erupted from the deep ocean blue as the dragon's maw skimmed the surface and snatched at prey disturbed by the actions of some great predator in the deep. It was mid-morning on a rest day, and Andy was too restless to sleep in like his rider. While she dozed in bed, he had gone to revel in the simple pleasure of fresh air and free flying, and to fill his belly with seafood. But now Cyrene was washing and dressing, and Andy felt her call in some deep, subconscious part of himself. After rising high into the air once more, the dragon angled himself toward the call and began to fly to the tiny lump of rock called Star Island.
As soon as Cyrene was dressed in her customary vest top and shorts, she flung a wool coat around her shoulders and began to head out onto Star Island’s surface. The day was cool and, for the season, still, with only a light wind blowing off from the sea. From the external entrance to her room, she headed onto the rocky path that lead gradually down the island towards the pier, where the ferries that moved people and supplies between Star Island and Wherry Island presently wallowed at anchor. She only had to look up at the eastern horizon to see a shape, instantly recognisable to her even at a distance, flying at speed in her direction.
Drinking in the fresh air with pleasure, Cyrene settled herself on a rocky ledge beside the path, still a good distance from the pier, where she could watch both her dragon’s approach and the activities of the little fishing vessels in the area. Seeing them made her a touch wistful for the many days spent on similar, albeit more archaic vessels she’d had in her childhood, eight centuries ago. Mentally, she reached out to Yahtoaandaleeth, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her from so far away. The dragon’s mind was a tumult of fast-moving images and sensations, flashing by far too quickly for Cyrene to make any sense of, but each oozing joy and delight nevertheless.
It took only a short time for the dragon to arrive. It seemed as though, for a while, he were nothing but a dark, elongated speck, then his shape and colour resolved more quickly from the bright blue of the sky, then there he was, in a rush of wind, looming before her. He looked feral, foreclaws and jaw stained with fish gore, belly speckled white with dried sea salt, but Cyrene beamed at him. He landed cleverly on the uneven rock and wrapped himself around his rider lovingly, filling her mind with thoughts of affection and joy just to be in her presence, and she wrapped her arms around her head despite the foul, fishy smell of his breath.
Their greeting complete, the blue dragon stretched himself out on the rock ledge beside the path to sunbathe, but he remained alert, his head raised to keep an eye out for potential playmates. Cyrene just lent against his belly. Together they watched the activity of the island and the surrounding sea, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company.
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