FOUL FLAMES -HOTD

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ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛs ᴛᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇs ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ
sᴏᴍᴇ ᴠᴀʟʏʀɪᴀɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅs ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜsɪɴɢ:

Dracarys = Dragonfire
Dohaerās = Serve
Lykirī = Be calm
Umbās = Wait
Rȳbās = Focus
Māzīs = Come
Naejot = Forward

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꧁ʀᴀᴠᴀᴇɴᴀ꧂

Townspeople often said that when a Targaryen was born, the God's flip a coin. A repetitive chain of the mentally damned or the physically frail on each side of the coin. A fifty percent chance that you'd live with a ruling fear, or live a short life of peace that only the cruel and devastating God's could decide. For the most part, Targaryens knew nothing of certainty of how their lives would turn out. Prime example of when the God's flipped a coin for the birth of Ravaena Targaryen. It stood still, and the whole world held its breath.

THE winds were subtle, barely flickering a strand of her hair when walking. Although, on dragon back, she fought against the wind in a battle to soar through the air. Her braids were tightly done, bar the few strands that were delicately left down in an elegant addition to the style. Which were also now blowing around absentmindedly in the force of the wind.

She gripped the saddle tightly, thanking the Seven for the leather gloves that protected her skin. She arched her back forwards to make the gusts of wind less violent against her face. Also making the pain of the air rushing into her eyes subtle at the least. Despite all of these factors, riding was the best aspect of the day on most days. Her bond with the dragon was a strong one at that.

Vyraxes, that was her name. Ravaena had the privilege to name her own dragon, having always adored her parents and their dragons, she managed a rough combination of Syrax and Caraxes' names. Leaving the dragon princess with the name. Vyraxes. The only dragon alive who was as big as the likes of Syrax at a mere four and ten years of age. And Ravaena sure knew of it, climbing the ropes to mount her was energy consuming enough.

Vyraxes started to flutter too much for her rider's liking. Bobbing up and down above the shores of Dragon Stone.
Cmon 'raxes I don't fancy a swim today, calm, steady. The dragon was not a mind reader, she continued her obnoxious actions and began to soar to the right, bobbing her head up and down still. Her wings fluttering and not taking long flaps like they should.

"Rȳbās Vyraxes!"
Ravaena shouted the command of 'Focus Vyraxes' through the whipping winds. The dragon took a second to register before straightening her deep medallion coloured wings into a magnificent soar cutting through the wind.

"sōvētēs Caraxes!"
Ravaena heard her father shout for his mount to fly. Caraxes came in behind her then overtook them both. She watched as her father let go of his reigns and stread his arm span out to match that of Caraxes' own wings.

"Show off!" Ravaena belted out.
She patted Vyraxes' side. Brushing her gloved hands across the rigid scales on the last pat. A signal for the dragon to speed up. She obeyed and flapped her wings sending more gusts of wind to her rider's way. Ravaena gave up on trying to contain her smile. She gave up on protecting herself wrom the Winds, enduring the moment. She made the very most of being on Dragon back, relishing the fact that only the Targaryen line had this opportunity. And even then, their line dwindled every century. Wearing out by each year. It made it all that more amazing, that she was one of the few in the world to have a Dragon binded to her, and her only. Riding came to her like breathing air, effortless and simple. The commands were the hardest, DRACARYS however, came frightfully quick for Vyraxes to understand.