Sunfyre, the Golden
Selee-01
All according to my Scenario
A project of mine. Comments appreciated.
***
The first thing Sunfyre knows is the smoking-hot-cavernous pit where he hatched. The walking-wingless-ones feed him and his clutchmates, and he grows. Before long, the silver-hair-purple-eyes come. One chooses him, and names him.
“I’m going to call you Sunfyre! One day, Father said we can fly!”
And so they do.
***
Sunfyre nuzzles his silver-Aegon, and stretches out. The harness straps and chains are tightened, as the old-pale-grim-burning-queen snaps at the air. Little-walkers scramble out of her way, and her wings cast even him in shadow. His silver-Aegon cracks the whip, and he roars golden fire.
The red-pink-blood-queen howls, dropping her hoofed-prey-animal-not-for-food. Her shining-skin-black-hair-rider drives her on, as Sunfyre rises. The earth falls away, and the old-queen follows.
The sky-light is going out far away, and darkness is pouring across the stone-bad-cold-nest. Silver-Aegon shouts a word, and he brings back the day, pink and gold burning away the evening sky-mist. The queens hiss, and the red-queen seems to falter before the flames. The silver-Aegon spurs him on, and Sunfyre swoops towards her softer, copper belly.
Red jaws close, and glowing blood pours from his neck.
He writhes and kicks, and almost wrenches free as the old-queen bears down on both. As the break-bone ground approaches, Sunfyre desperately throws out his wings.
And then there is black.
***
He drags his bulk through the mud, hissing in pain. His scales, once-pristine, are caked with filth. Sunfyre painfully preens his wounded wing, scraping the dried blood away. He hobbles to a drier patch, and lays out on the sun-warm-dirt. Another little-walker heaves a hairy-hoofed-prey in his direction, and he flames it.
The black-bones of the red-pink-blood-queen are scattered across the field. He ate her flesh, with the old-queen. His silver-Aegon is away, but he feels the echo of his pain.
A noise reaches him, and suddenly he is surrounded by little-walkers. They slash and cut with shining-talons, and Sunfyre bathes them in molten gold. He struggles to fly, ripping his wounds open anew, three times. Black talons and fangs tear, his tail smashing them as he bucks.
At last, he is alone.
Sunfyre lies there, panting. Then he clambers up a hill, and beats his wings. Slowly, painfully, he rises.
He needs to go.
***
In the cold-mist-woods, he recovers. Eating his own kills, blundering through the ferns to better hiding places. Caves and hollows, and tall-pine-trees, shelter him. At last, he feels strong enough. His wounds are no longer agony. He still waits, for his scales to come in. For armor.
Then his silver-Aegon calls.
He answers.
The night is dark when he rises off the stony-cold-water-land, the sea crashing far below. His shining-pink wings shimmer, catching the dawn as he races the storm. The smoking-mountain of his birth is visible, he can smell the sulfur and dragonstink.
A pale-grey-ghost-serpent rises, ethereal flame catching. Sunfyre and Grey-Ghost duel, black talons ripping and slashing. The Ghost is light, young, tender. The Golden is heavy, older, tough.
Black blood falls.
Sunfyre feasts on the cold-black-glass sand, and slowly rises again.
***
His silver-Aegon drives him on, struggling to hold on. He shouts encouragement he does not comprehend, and turns him towards the black-fire-ash-smell-stone-nest. Sunfyre glides, exhausted.
Then the moon-green-pearl-hatchling roars. He cannot fight, but his precious silver-Aegon needs him. So he fights, tossing around to protect his silver-Aegon from pale fire. The battle is fierce, sharp-bone-pain in his scarred wing. Claws shear scales away from his belly and back.
At last, he burns the hatchlings eyes. But he falls, shattering a hip and ripping his wings. Sunfyre tears at the moon-green-hatchling, even as her fangs and claws shreds his belly. A sudden pain, and one eye goes dark. Dragon and rider howl as one, and his fangs close around her throat.
His silver-Aegon screams, even after the hatchling is still.
***
He rouses at the smell of the silver-Aegon-clutchmate. Sunfyre sniffs the blood, the fresh prey. Golden fire erupts, and he feasts.
When he eats the silver-Aegon-clutchmate, he is filled.
The pain grows, though. Grows even with his feedings. His scales fall off, rot-stench in every breath. Silver-Aegon cannot be with him, when he himself is so wounded. Eventually, the pain is too much.
He gives up.
Sunfyre dies dreaming of flight.
***
The first thing Sunfyre knows is the smoking-hot-cavernous pit where he hatched. The walking-wingless-ones feed him and his clutchmates, and he grows. Before long, the silver-hair-purple-eyes come. One chooses him, and names him.
“I’m going to call you Sunfyre! One day, Father said we can fly!”
And so they do.
***
Sunfyre nuzzles his silver-Aegon, and stretches out. The harness straps and chains are tightened, as the old-pale-grim-burning-queen snaps at the air. Little-walkers scramble out of her way, and her wings cast even him in shadow. His silver-Aegon cracks the whip, and he roars golden fire.
The red-pink-blood-queen howls, dropping her hoofed-prey-animal-not-for-food. Her shining-skin-black-hair-rider drives her on, as Sunfyre rises. The earth falls away, and the old-queen follows.
The sky-light is going out far away, and darkness is pouring across the stone-bad-cold-nest. Silver-Aegon shouts a word, and he brings back the day, pink and gold burning away the evening sky-mist. The queens hiss, and the red-queen seems to falter before the flames. The silver-Aegon spurs him on, and Sunfyre swoops towards her softer, copper belly.
Red jaws close, and glowing blood pours from his neck.
He writhes and kicks, and almost wrenches free as the old-queen bears down on both. As the break-bone ground approaches, Sunfyre desperately throws out his wings.
And then there is black.
***
He drags his bulk through the mud, hissing in pain. His scales, once-pristine, are caked with filth. Sunfyre painfully preens his wounded wing, scraping the dried blood away. He hobbles to a drier patch, and lays out on the sun-warm-dirt. Another little-walker heaves a hairy-hoofed-prey in his direction, and he flames it.
The black-bones of the red-pink-blood-queen are scattered across the field. He ate her flesh, with the old-queen. His silver-Aegon is away, but he feels the echo of his pain.
A noise reaches him, and suddenly he is surrounded by little-walkers. They slash and cut with shining-talons, and Sunfyre bathes them in molten gold. He struggles to fly, ripping his wounds open anew, three times. Black talons and fangs tear, his tail smashing them as he bucks.
At last, he is alone.
Sunfyre lies there, panting. Then he clambers up a hill, and beats his wings. Slowly, painfully, he rises.
He needs to go.
***
In the cold-mist-woods, he recovers. Eating his own kills, blundering through the ferns to better hiding places. Caves and hollows, and tall-pine-trees, shelter him. At last, he feels strong enough. His wounds are no longer agony. He still waits, for his scales to come in. For armor.
Then his silver-Aegon calls.
He answers.
The night is dark when he rises off the stony-cold-water-land, the sea crashing far below. His shining-pink wings shimmer, catching the dawn as he races the storm. The smoking-mountain of his birth is visible, he can smell the sulfur and dragonstink.
A pale-grey-ghost-serpent rises, ethereal flame catching. Sunfyre and Grey-Ghost duel, black talons ripping and slashing. The Ghost is light, young, tender. The Golden is heavy, older, tough.
Black blood falls.
Sunfyre feasts on the cold-black-glass sand, and slowly rises again.
***
His silver-Aegon drives him on, struggling to hold on. He shouts encouragement he does not comprehend, and turns him towards the black-fire-ash-smell-stone-nest. Sunfyre glides, exhausted.
Then the moon-green-pearl-hatchling roars. He cannot fight, but his precious silver-Aegon needs him. So he fights, tossing around to protect his silver-Aegon from pale fire. The battle is fierce, sharp-bone-pain in his scarred wing. Claws shear scales away from his belly and back.
At last, he burns the hatchlings eyes. But he falls, shattering a hip and ripping his wings. Sunfyre tears at the moon-green-hatchling, even as her fangs and claws shreds his belly. A sudden pain, and one eye goes dark. Dragon and rider howl as one, and his fangs close around her throat.
His silver-Aegon screams, even after the hatchling is still.
***
He rouses at the smell of the silver-Aegon-clutchmate. Sunfyre sniffs the blood, the fresh prey. Golden fire erupts, and he feasts.
When he eats the silver-Aegon-clutchmate, he is filled.
The pain grows, though. Grows even with his feedings. His scales fall off, rot-stench in every breath. Silver-Aegon cannot be with him, when he himself is so wounded. Eventually, the pain is too much.
He gives up.
Sunfyre dies dreaming of flight.
