[ it might take a while for the dragon to wake up again. at most there’re are only drowsy grumbles, occasionally batting away at the boy he only say as a blurry shadow before falling still once more. any touches he does feel in and out of conscious earns growls. lips lift to show what he can of his fangs, his curled wing folding even closer to his belly. that’s all the energy he has.
there was something he’d keep dreaming about. some other dragon-like beast, defeating the heedless until he could no longer use his tattered wings or walk on his broken bones and shattered horns. he could hardly move. he was bleeding, but there was always a little bundle of something tucked away under his wing. he couldn’t move, but his heart pounded like a warrior’s, with resolve to live and fight for the bundle like he would his very own freedom.
the little bundle was his freedom.
the mark speaks to eren, but he doesn’t know what it means. in all honesty, the next time he opens his eyes— he hardly remembers what it was that he dreamt of. he just— aches, his wing aches. the headache and superficial bruises underneath scales that took more bludgeoning damage are healed. he was. he was strong enough to take it, obviously (he’s still mildly flabbergasted that he did). the first thing that comes to mind, though, in a jolt, is to look under the left, curled wing.
he dreamed there was something . . . important . . . there. ]
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there was something he’d keep dreaming about. some other dragon-like beast, defeating the heedless until he could no longer use his tattered wings or walk on his broken bones and shattered horns. he could hardly move. he was bleeding, but there was always a little bundle of something tucked away under his wing. he couldn’t move, but his heart pounded like a warrior’s, with resolve to live and fight for the bundle like he would his very own freedom.
the little bundle was his freedom.
the mark speaks to eren, but he doesn’t know what it means. in all honesty, the next time he opens his eyes— he hardly remembers what it was that he dreamt of. he just— aches, his wing aches. the headache and superficial bruises underneath scales that took more bludgeoning damage are healed. he was. he was strong enough to take it, obviously (he’s still mildly flabbergasted that he did). the first thing that comes to mind, though, in a jolt, is to look under the left, curled wing.
he dreamed there was something . . . important . . . there. ]