Inktober but Writing-Spell
Sirra looked out over the endless dunes with the sun beating down on her like a physical force. Beneath her veil, her ears and fur pressed flat, wilted by the extreme heat. She looked at her companions, sand sticking to the dried blood of the running battles of the last several days. One positively basked in the heat and bright sunlight, Sparkās face turned toward the sun as the genasi seemed to regain strength from the rays, almost like a plant. But even his dark skin glistened with sweat and his bright orange hair lay plastered against his face. His companion, short and dark, seemed to have withdrawn even smaller than usual, his spiked tail limp in the sand and the hood of his shifting, sand colored cloak drawn over his head in a useless attempt to keep out the sun. He was the least suited for this environment, but they both waited, patiently, for her.
She took a small sip of water from a very warm waterskin to provide enough moisture to speak. āIntelligence says the Bloodrose are across the dunes, in the Shafaat oasis. We need to be fast.ā
Her companions, her brothers, nodded, almost in unison. No further words needed to be spoken. They knew to preserve much needed moisture in the desert. They waited, turning towards her, stepping towards her as she started towards them.
A deep breath, two, they linked hands, not out of necessity, but because they needed that assurance and thrum of power to rejuvenate spent resources.
They waited for Sirra, fully trusting and giving themselves over as she intoned the holy druidic language and spoke the spell.
Their forms shifted with hers, lean, limber desert cats in the spot of the three humanoids. As one, they turned and began trotting over the dunes on paws wide enough to not sink into the shifting, burning sands, the darkest one at the back, the red-orange and largest at the front, nose to tail.
dailybridgerton
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
