( The trouble, he understands belatedly, is not the landing: the dragon, good-sweet Opal, knows the way of that, better than he might hope. He thinks, belatedly, to use his sword for flight, but the winds only stoke and harden, and he is no fool to risk their currents undefended. No, gravity and Opal do not fail him —
The challenge is when they work too well.
He breaks his fall, ribs first, ache spreading in him like living fire, bursting. Teeth clenching, he thinks to allow himself a moment to absorb the pulses and needle points of impact, to breathe — only he's tumbling off already, casualty of his dead weight and the shifting dragon, and his cold-stiff hands fail to clasp the dragon's scales.
It's Opal who intercedes again, raising her wing to block him, just as he's about to roll off, and only settling into a correct flight pattern once he appears to have found some semblance of balance. There, flushed to a feverish degree, climbing back up to assume position behind Emilia, not too proud to keep his cheek from flattening, squarely, on the swell of her shoulders, nose, he knows, frigid.
She'll make do.
Thank you, he understands, is the anticipation. And he rasps: )
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( The trouble, he understands belatedly, is not the landing: the dragon, good-sweet Opal, knows the way of that, better than he might hope. He thinks, belatedly, to use his sword for flight, but the winds only stoke and harden, and he is no fool to risk their currents undefended. No, gravity and Opal do not fail him —
The challenge is when they work too well.
He breaks his fall, ribs first, ache spreading in him like living fire, bursting. Teeth clenching, he thinks to allow himself a moment to absorb the pulses and needle points of impact, to breathe — only he's tumbling off already, casualty of his dead weight and the shifting dragon, and his cold-stiff hands fail to clasp the dragon's scales.
It's Opal who intercedes again, raising her wing to block him, just as he's about to roll off, and only settling into a correct flight pattern once he appears to have found some semblance of balance. There, flushed to a feverish degree, climbing back up to assume position behind Emilia, not too proud to keep his cheek from flattening, squarely, on the swell of her shoulders, nose, he knows, frigid.
She'll make do.
Thank you, he understands, is the anticipation. And he rasps: )
...dead? ( Not this time. )