[ mikleo would have to look no farther, nor yell another word to hear a reply. the bloody twilight above them rings with a dragon’s cry: desperation, ferocity, all a strum like metal streaking across glass that wants but can’t in the time he desired.
his shriek pierces the winds again, and again, to signal how close he’s come. it, unfortunately, doesn’t come from the sky and murky clouds. gradually, it’s clear that he’s still on foot. feet that were no longer made for actual running, mikleo would see: the charcoal shaded lizard is grounded, occasionally beating his wings madly to get off the ground. the pressure of it all would fatigue his muscles, and leave him clumsily clawing at the earth with arm wings.
he’s too stubborn to stop though, and eventually flaps his arms again to gain more momentum to his hind legs, especially when he catches the seraph in his sights. the dirt doesn’t quake when he comes, and doesn’t match the size eren usually takes as a dragon. he’s actually more or less at mikleo’s height, or just a little taller, as he usually was.
it smells like rotten corpses, and blood, the witch blood is what makes him the most antsy, bounding to his bonded and lowering his head in an instant to prop him up from falling any further. it’d— have to be his entire skull, his snout isn’t big enough. ]
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his shriek pierces the winds again, and again, to signal how close he’s come. it, unfortunately, doesn’t come from the sky and murky clouds. gradually, it’s clear that he’s still on foot. feet that were no longer made for actual running, mikleo would see: the charcoal shaded lizard is grounded, occasionally beating his wings madly to get off the ground. the pressure of it all would fatigue his muscles, and leave him clumsily clawing at the earth with arm wings.
he’s too stubborn to stop though, and eventually flaps his arms again to gain more momentum to his hind legs, especially when he catches the seraph in his sights. the dirt doesn’t quake when he comes, and doesn’t match the size eren usually takes as a dragon. he’s actually more or less at mikleo’s height, or just a little taller, as he usually was.
it smells like rotten corpses, and blood, the witch blood is what makes him the most antsy, bounding to his bonded and lowering his head in an instant to prop him up from falling any further. it’d— have to be his entire skull, his snout isn’t big enough. ]
We need to go, we— get on me.
[ he’s still big enough for that. ]