FOUL FLAMES -HOTD

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𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞:
ʀᴀᴠᴀᴇɴᴀ

Arm in arm, two young girls roamed out onto the rocky cliffs of the island. They jutted out like menacing daggers that tried so eagerly to stab the sea. Going back for an attempt every day, never suceeding. One girl with deep chestnut curls that bounced above the small of her back, strutted across the beaten grass. small baby hairs danced about in the whistling Winds by the sea. Luckily, short enough so the small hairs would not succeed in obscuring her vision.

The other girl, with waves that reached past the the small of her back. Contacting the rim of her skirt line. The hair was ashen, woven into a tight half up half down braid that trailed down her scalp and then past the length of her neck. A traditional style thanks to the influence of her Father explaining how her Mother used to look in her younger years.

Arm in arm, they walked. Excitement and apprehension practically buzzing off of their heavily attired frames.

Dyanna had borrowed Ravaena's other riding attire, a black layer that was held together in the middle with silver clasps. Engraved in the shape of small dragons.
Ironic really, her mother joked around saying she was the Targaryen that never was. Out of how much she acted like she was a targaryen herself.
'It's better than being a Hightower, by bloody far.' Dyanna would say, and Ravaena knew that she meant it, her sister never swore.

The whole of Dragon Stone would soon find out if Dyanna was Targaryen at heart. Vyraxes would decide her fate, and Alamaris was praying to the seven that Vyraxes chose wisely.

"My mother is having a heart attack Venna." Dyanna joked, although her nerves were rattling enough without the added weight of her mother.

"I think mine is too... But its alright, Vyraxes knows you Dy. She'll accept you with out a doubt!" Ravaena said all to enthusiastically, fear was biting at her as well, but it wouldn't help anyone if she let it on.
"Come on, Vyraxes awaits." Ravasna teased and jogged over to the Mount.

Vyraxes stirred from her sleep, wide eyed and giddy as soon as Ravaena came close to her senses. The dragon caught a wiff of her rider's scent and raised her head. Black scales ruffling from the wind she was mustering up just from moving.

Ravaena walked over to Vyraxes' long face. Bringing a gloved hand up to stroke her scaled cheek. The skin was rough, and Ravaena often thought how long it would take to trace each and every wrinkle line. It would take a millenia.

The Hightower meekly approached Vyraxes. The dragon caught ahold of her scent, Vyraxes lurched her head forward slightly. The movement was intimidating, to any other, they would have bolted it right back to the castle and never left again. But Dyanna, the girl stepped back three paces and held her ground.

"Say it, don't be afraid." Ravaena said.

Dyanna inhaled and exhaled. Standing deadly still as the wind passed by, the whole world was passing by it seemed. Only the coils of her hair blowing about wildly, could you see that Dyanna Hightower was in fact still breathing.

"Lykirī Vyraxes." Dyanna commanded, taking note of Ravaena's teachings that the Hightower had begged for. Perhaps knowing this day would come.

Vyraxes halted. Breathing in and out, the wave of the dragon exhaling was immense. And Dyanna's hair waved about crazily in response to the revolting carbon dioxide Vyraxes was giving off.