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~ 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟐𝟖 𝐀𝐂
Late that night, Daeravor walks the shores of the Blackwater blanketed in a layer of ominous mist, the breeze drifting through his hair and sprinkling his cheeks smelling strongly of salt.
The glow of the moon streams down from the night's sky, irradiating the atmosphere around him. The pale sand shimmering as if little diamonds were wedged between the gritty grains. The gentle waves lapping over the sand reflecting the moon and stars.
Something stirs in the darkness ahead of him.
Daeravor begins to sing ancient, soothing lyrics in Old Valyrian. 'Tis a lost art called dragonsong.
" 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊 𝒑𝒚𝒌𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒐 𝒋𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒔 "
" 𝒀𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒚𝒛 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒗𝒂̄𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒔 "
The earth beneath his boots begin to tremor as the mist parts for the dragon that lifts its head–which is massive, not much smaller than Aemond's Vhagar.
" 𝑯𝒆𝒏 𝒏̃𝒖𝒉𝒂 𝒆𝒍𝒆̄𝒏𝒊̄: 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒚𝒔𝒔𝒚 𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒔 "
" 𝑺𝒆 𝒈𝒆̄𝒍𝒚𝒏 𝒊𝒓𝒖̄𝒅𝒂𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 "
A haunting glow–a bright green–slithers through the mist towards Daeravor.
" 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒐 𝒖𝒅𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒔𝒊 𝒆𝒛𝒊̄𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊 "
" 𝑯𝒂̄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒐̄𝒕 𝒗𝒂̄𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒏 "
The beast is the color of an onyx storm with bright green eyes. His body tells the tale of a long life–one of his four largest horns is broken.
