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Post by Flare on Mar 27, 2022 14:55:56 GMT -6
A gust of chilly air billowed through the flaps of the tent, bringing a sheet of rain to soak them both. The dragonoak hisses at the cold bath, where Flare's rumpled sleeping clothes dripped, chilling his tanned skin. Brr. Briefly ignoring the wet dragonoak, the youth had to grab the tassels that held the tent flaps together, and tie them back together. Only a specific tug on the right rope would loosen the lot. Finally, the wind only tried to get through in a few spaces. His hair dripped down his face again, brushed away in annoyance. He didn't appreciate getting wet like this. Having use of that miniature furnace he'd found would help right now. And it didn't produce much smoke, but had to be aired out in order to use again. Turning his back to the now secured flaps, he searches in the large wooden chest for the knee height fire heater. 165 x.20Ayzjod9I
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Post by Flare on Mar 30, 2022 22:47:32 GMT -6
Having fire is a bad idea in an indoor space, unless there is space to let the smoke out. The little portable fireplace, the "potted" fireplace, as it was stamped into the ceramic, crackles happily to life when he draws his hands away. No fire elementals here. Beneath his feet, the earth drank deeply from the rain, squishy and happy. Also messy, but its earth. As heat fills the tent space, the dragonoak keeping his distance, settles as a waft of warming air drifts over. Opening his wing leaves to let them dry. At least he'd be comfortable now. As for flare himself, he would need a fresh set of clothes or let his present ones dry. It took him some time to rig together a lean to of his staff, a long stick, and stretching his clothing across, before crawling back into the warmth of his lined barrel. Resting is good. 166 x.20kqAsfpt|
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Yang
Flea Market Artist
Posts: 1,001
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Post by Yang on Mar 30, 2022 23:46:05 GMT -6
Something peaks from the underbrush nearby...
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Post by Flare on Mar 31, 2022 4:13:49 GMT -6
The gritty shifting under your feet feeling of walking barefoot through sand. Sinking slightly with each step taken. The cry of overhead desert birds or the buzz of desert insects. Where is he going. Why is he back in the desert? The redhead's throat is dry as he trudges. Struggling with his wooden limb sinking. Get out of the sun. It beats down on his skin; punishing the paleness. Ahead of him, the horizon of a full table of people. People he recognized; his family. They wave at him. He waves back, and starts to run, struggling to keep up in the sand. As the scene pulls away, he's still running, running, and it whites out. Yah! Flare yells as he wakes up. Ow. Ducking to avoid the roof of his barrel, the man pokes forward out of the object with his mismatched limbs, blindly seeking his clothes. Where ... where... aha. Now where was that oak. 167 x.20esp46ZBk
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Yang
Flea Market Artist
Posts: 1,001
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Post by Yang on Mar 31, 2022 12:51:26 GMT -6
Something peaks from the underbrush nearby...
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Post by Flare on Mar 31, 2022 13:19:19 GMT -6
Stifling a yawn, flare drags himself out of the barrel, pulling his arms through the holes of his vest. there’s already a billowing space in the tent gap; the rain has stopped, the smell of wet earth and plants seeping through the opening. Spring needs rain. Drawn outside, he can feel the fatigue of sleep melting away as the sun shone on his skin. Definitely not a plant, but inside his magical core seems to enjoy sunlight. The soil squishes a bit around the pointed root toes of his wooden leg as he stands in the sun. Beyond him, the dragonoak is stomping along the ground, sniffing the ground, occasionally digging at it. Was he looking for worms? Probably would find some; the worms come to the surface when it rains. Castor’s yellow eye glances at the humanlike male before returning to the task of seeeking food for himself. 168 x.20b0QWwM4n
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Post by Flare on Mar 31, 2022 13:50:30 GMT -6
That was a rare occurance. He hasn’t dreamt of the desert in a long time. Since leaving, actually. The vision is already fading, he has no idea what he’s seen, facewise. Why had he thought of those faces as family… in traditional sense, if they weren’t killed off after the execution, the city would’ve shunned them or run them out of town. So having dreams about that is absurd. ‘I’m not outside often enough.’ He considers to himself. Flare doesn’t dwell on his past. He really doesn’t. So he sits it aside. What would be a smart thing to do outside today. Inside, he can hear the scratch of nails against wood. Outside, the sound of nature; of Castor seeking worms ot eat. Once castor found food, he should check for any mites or leaf rot; because winter was kind of wet this weason. 169 x.20sbPxNXvR
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Post by Flare on Mar 31, 2022 14:39:13 GMT -6
is it that difficult to get some worms around here? The giant has tamped down all the earth. Castor growls to himself as he stomps around, occasionally huffing a hot bit of steam from tiny nostrils, seeking. All he wants is worms to eat. He really doesn’t care about if anything else has something to eat; most of those stupid plant cats have no concept of eating; they squash berries and such and sstick their paws in it and just do something. No idea. Gross. Do plant dragons have teeth? They can ‘bite’, but were they roots or just woody jags. Aha. Finally, a worm. A fat one, struggling to reach the surface of some sodden dirt. Moving too fast for a worm to sense, as worms don’t have eyes, Castor snaps it out of the ground. Steam stiffening his catch until it drops limp, and he lets it steam until it dries. 170 x.20pxzveb2G
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Post by Ashe on Apr 1, 2022 0:04:14 GMT -6
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