Learn to fly
I noticed the wanderer immediately as he crested the edge of the canyon. He entered on the east side, his shadow long and sharp behind him just as evening started to pull the heat from the air. He wore a rough wrap, burlap turned gray with windborne dust and shredded from travel. It swathed him head to foot, obscuring everything but a pair of piercing green eyes. He walked on two legs, a strange sight in this land, rangy limbs swaying tiredly as he trudged towards the oasis. He was looking for something, like all who came.
I watched as he wound down the shallow path into the valley. The evening breeze floated towards him, carrying green, living scents of the plants. I shifted slightly atop my staff, my single support swaying for a moment. It interrupted my meditation enough for hunger to seep through, disrupting the gentle magic I’d spread across my garden.
I firmed my posture despite my hollow stomach, maintaining my precarious perch. I greeted every traveler, and I wouldn’t leave my post now.
"Hello, Rishi." His voice was dry, raspy, as he greeted me. He had reached me before shadows finished filling the valley, their sonorous strokes layering the oasis in otherworldly hues. He stood before my perch, eyes level with my fetlocks even as I balanced atop my staff.
"Greetings, Seeker. What do you search for?" I swayed once and slipped lithely down, practiced movements sure despite fatigue. Solid ground felt good, and my hunger returned full-force.
“Water, if you have any to spare.”
“Gladly. Come, come."
He followed silently as I led him further into the sanctuary.
As we walked the well-worn path, the sand under my hooves gave way to plants. First it was harsh dune grass, striving valiantly against the encroaching desert. That eventually broke against small shrubs and weeds, pushing strongly into the neighboring territory. The expansion was progressing nicely. Taller plants rose behind, a narrow band of brush that was quickly lost in the depths of the trees. I was proud of my oasis. It was a masterwork, even for a shaman of my heritage.
My visitor gave no sign of interest. Whoever he was, he’d been searching for a long time; I read patience in the weariness of his slow steps, exactly one stride behind me. He didn’t hurry or slow even as the dark of the trees wrapped us, their deep foliage blocking the twilight as the sun touched the horizon.
The walk to my hut was short. It was a rude thing, fallen logs piled into the corner of a cliff, leaf mold and cut sod sealing it against the chill evening air. As it came into view I automatically checked the depth and richness of the soil nearby. I’d soon have enough life here to plant a proper house; then I’d be waiting for it to blossom. I loved my work, but it was frustratingly slow at times.
“Come in.” I opened the door for my guest. He nodded and followed as I entered with rehearsed certainty, tossing my staff into one corner and brushing the ash from the coals. They gleamed at the sudden air. I added a bundle of tinder and puffed a short breath.
They sparked once and died.
"Barren sand," I cursed mildly, reaching for my flint striker.
"Allow me." My guest leaned down and breathed again on the ash. I blinked in surprise as a trickle of emerald fire streamed from beneath his hood, crackling on the tinder and greedily licking up the dry fuel.
"My thanks." I added a few more pieces of wood, dipped my kettle into the water bucket, and set it in the flames. His eyes narrowed slightly in the depths of his hood at my bland reply, but he settled himself comfortably in the dirt, leaning gratefully back on the wall by the door.
“You’re really not bothered.” His tone was flat and hesitant. He must be used to fear, or worse. Maybe he’d been testing me, like my silence had tested him.
“Seeker…” I had promised him a drink. I filled a mug with cool water and handed it to him calmly. “I welcome all to my oasis by the traditions of my people. If a Drakon wanders in, begging for a draught, I’ll oblige you as easily as any traveler. It was the way of the first zebra shaman, and it is my way as well. We preserve and nurture.”
A little tension melted from his poise as he drained the cup. He passed it back before hooking claws around the edges of his hood, lowering it slowly. Green eyes, slit and smoldering, stared from a jagged purple face. "You know of the Drakon? That’s more than I usually explain." He rubbed his jaw. "I’ve met a shaman or two, and understand something of the work. You nurture the oasis. Perhaps you preserve the skystone?" He gave me a searching look.
"Oh-ho. A wanderer and a scholar." I stared back in the flickering firelight, yielding nothing. "Did you come for that, Seeker?" My voice was slightly harsh, accusing.
"I seek nothing for itself," he replied slowly. I nodded at the guarded answer.
"You're wiser than most." I turned to the baskets and bins layering the floors and walls. The woven containers rustled as I rummaged for herbs, spices, roots and grains. "Can I offer you supper?"
"Your offer is kind, but don't trouble yourself. All I need is the morning dew and a little sunshine." He smiled slightly, a thin, forked tongue flickering between his teeth. "Here, at least, I have more than enough of the one. I would like some tea, though."
"Of course." I threw a pinch of cinnamon, a dash of camellia, and a shake of vanilla into my teapot. He leaned back and relaxed, eyes sliding half-closed. "Why do you seek, then?"
"Hmm?" He focused on me again, pulled from his private world.
"You don't seek the skystone for itself, you claim. So... fame, money, power, none of that. Why, then?"
"I was told that those who come here are taught wisdom."
"Is that what they say now?" I laughed, gold bangles clattering in the flickering firelight. "Old Zebra Rishi, living alone in the desert. Go talk to him, he must be wise." I groaned, rubbing my neck. "Why does everypony think that different means better? Until they search for wisdom where they are, they'll never value anything."
"Mmmm." His hum was noncommittal, just filling space. I snorted.
The kettle whistled. I hooked the handle with my staff, swirling it a few times and pouring the boiling tea into tiny glass saucers. My guest stirred his absently with the tip of a claw, heedless of the scalding heat. I blew gently on mine.
"Are you seeking wisdom, or the skystone?"
"Neither, really, not as such. Maybe I’ve lost sight of my original goal." He frowned, suddenly pensive. "Rishi, what is wisdom?"
"Ahh, now you're asking something worthwhile." I gave him a gap-toothed grin and slurped my drink. Outside, I could hear the crickets come alive as darkness finished settling. The fire crackled and crumbled; I poured a measure of oatmeal into the half-empty teapot and returned it to the coals. "But why ask me? I'm no wise one. I'm here to safeguard deep magic, nothing else. On occasion I host a traveler. They rarely stay long." I shrugged. "Must be my snoring."
He chuckled, puffing rings of smoke from his nostrils. After a moment he rummaged beneath his burlap rags, finally pulling out a steel chain. He unclasped it from his neck and passed it to me.
"This is?" I took it gently, running a hoof along its length. It was sturdy, obviously practical before decorative, but strangely adorned.
"The vial is alicorn tears, freely shed for me during a full moon." I glanced up sharply but his voice was level, almost bored. "The shard of golden metal is orichalcum, the blood of mountains. I plucked it from the crater where the pride of Archeopolois once stood."
"The dawn city? But--"
"And that last, the rainbow fragment? It's one of Ancalagon's eyeteeth. A trophy won in fair combat from the shadow of all dragons." He held out his hand and I hesitantly returned the chain, unsure if I should be awed or appalled by his trophies. "A small enough hoard, some would say."
"Fools," I spat, surprised by my own vehemence. "Just one of those treasures..." I cut off. "So, you seek the skystone."
He gave me a long look, slowly sipping his tea. I stirred my porridge.
"In more ways than one, a dragon is defined by his hoard. What I value is reflected here. That in turn shapes the magic inside me. This one," he pointed to the vial, "shelters me night and day. I see even in darkest shadow. The stars guide me, no matter where I am. I eat only sunlight, and it will never burn me.”
“This one," he pointed to the orichalcum, "runs like steel in my veins. I've been crushed, stabbed, beaten and poisoned, and survived it all. My punches hit like an avalanche, and all but the best weapons simply bounce off my scales. With both of them together I could cross this country at a dead run and defeat an army after. Both combined were barely enough to win the third." He gazed into the fire, reminiscing.
"I wrestled Ancalagon for uncounted days. He dragged me into the belly of the earth, no light, no life, but fire. I withstood him, begging again and again for his advice. In the end he pronounced it a good fight and gave me his tooth. He claimed I'd loosened it; I think he was trying to comfort me."
"So," I broke the silence after a moment. "What does it do?"
"Nothing, for me." He flicked the fragment with a claw. It went faaaaaaaaang. "Ancalagon's answers were worthless. I keep the trophy for curiosity; it has no value for my hoard."
I spooned my porridge into a bowl, and started eating slowly. I was halfway done before I spoke again.
"Skystone, for your hoard? You're looking for wings."
He nodded once.
"You're searching for something, that magical, strange something, that will help you grow. You're searching for a path into the sky."
"Mmm."
"Do you pretend fatigue?"
He cracked an eye.
"I'm nearly fed up with this." He tipped his head back, resting it against the wall. "I've been on the road for years, Rishi. I could do with a rest."
"Sleep, then." I rinsed my bowl, leaning on its shelf to dry. "I may be just a zebra, but old Rishi will watch over you."
* * *
"It doesn't look like much."
"It's not." I leaned heavily on my staff. "And good thing too, or somepony would have figured it out already."
Deep in the shadows of the valley, a thin, winding trail led up the walls. We'd left my hut before daybreak, hiking carefully in the dim night. I sighed, looking out over the tiny patch of jungle I'd managed to coax to life, a small swatch of green struggling amidst the arid wastes of sand. Leaving early had no special meaning; I just loved to sit up here, high in the cliffs, staring out over the valley below as sunlight poured over the lip of mountain behind, slowly filling my oasis like honey tipped into a bowl.
"So?" I turned back to my visitor. He was scrutinizing the cliff behind me, running his claws gently over the rock. "Are you taking one?"
"You'd just... let me?" He gave me a puzzled look.
"Drakon, I couldn't stop you for my life. Fame, fortune, power; pry a piece out."
He touched a skystone, the perfectly cubic crystal half buried in the cliff.
"They sell for millions. You know, I looked in three other places before coming here? There's records of these even in the ruins of Archeopolis, a city so old we don't know who lived there or what they called it."
I nodded.
"In Minoa they say a pony with a skystone can jump from the tallest spire of the palace and land unharmed." He sighed and stepped back.
"There's some truth to that." I fumbled at the pouches tied to my staff, finally freeing a small cubic crystal. I held it up so he saw it and tossed it off the cliff with a flick of my hoof. He watched, face impassive, as it floated right back to me a moment later. "You're no fun. You should at least twitch. The last one screamed."
"How many have you given away?"
"Count."
He ran his claws over the divots in the rock.
"Five."
"Ah, you saw mine." I shrugged.
"And how many turned back after you showed them?"
"Three, including you."
"Pfah." He smirked. "You're a canny old coot, I'll say that."
"You said it yourself; if it's meaningless, there's no point in hoarding it."
"Mmm." He walked to the cliff edge, perching on the rim. We stood there as the sun finished rising, motionless until the light dripped down my back, warming my coat through and through. "Sometimes," he said, "I feel I could just walk off the edge." He raised a foot, balancing precariously.
"So, Seeker, what is it you value?" I slumped beside him, settling comfortably on the stone. He sighed.
"Enjoying the sun on my scales. Savoring a moss agate despite the grit. Morning dew drunk from rose petals. Constellations. Sharing tea with shriveled zebra shamans. Wings."
"What does the sky mean to you?"
"Freedom."
"Hah!" I burst into chuckles. He scowled. "Really, Seeker. You can run and not grow weary; you can walk and not faint, but all you can dream of is wings? Just how greedy are you? How much more freedom do you need, before you're happy? Such avarice, even for a dragon! What could drive you to such lengths?"
"Not what."
"Aaaah." I sighed. "Who, then."
He grudgingly nodded.
"She has beautiful wings. I'd give so much, so very much to just follow her into the sky once, taste the freedom she revels in."
"So." I poked him with my stick. He swayed lithely, footing sure, even balanced on the cliff’s edge. "So you left her behind, walking off to find your wings. Alone."
"It's... it's not like that." He shook his head. "She's my sister. She can barely even fly. Though maybe now... Yeah, maybe. But even when she first tried, she saw something up there." He tipped his head back, staring into the deep desert blue. "Something in the sky. I saw it in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the curl of her smile. Something I'd never seen, never touched, up in the sky. So I set out to find it."
"Alone."
"Yes, alone!" he snarled, a second set of lids nictitating across his eyes in a strange flicker of anger. "Alone," he repeated more calmly. "I'm not... I don't... I just did. I had some silly idea that they were holding me back. I'm a dragon, you see."
"Really."
"Pffft. Yeah, yeah. Well, they were ponies."
"Oh, that..." I frowned. "You must be Spike."
"Heh. Are the zebra shamans so close knit?"
"I hear the Everfree is beautiful this time of year. Tell my cousin I said hello."
Below us, the oasis was awakening. Migratory birds, waking from a restful night, started squawking and milling. I saw flashes of color as flowers opened and closed, plants trading the cool scents of night for the bright hues of day.
"Family, friends, it's an interesting thing." I flipped my skystone over the edge, watching it fall and float back. "They hand us silken cords, tied to their hearts, and we bind ourselves to them. You'd be crazy to call that freedom."
"Ancalagon claimed his wings grew after everyone who loved him died."
"Worthless indeed."
"Blech." He grimaced at the forest, finally stepping back from the edge. "Fine, that's it. I'm done, giving up, going home."
"Oh, good grief." I stood with a heave, stepping to block his way. "Are all the young ones so dense these days?"
"Rishi?"
"Come on, please don't say you've missed it." I raised my staff, poking him in the chest. He stepped backwards. "Give up? Give up? I'll have you know, when I was your age my vision quest lasted..." I stopped, eyes narrowing at his smirk. "Yes, I sound like a geezer. I am a geezer; I'm allowed. Listen to me, Spike the dragon, Drakon, Wyrmlord, Avatar of Fire. If you give up now, you'll never fly." He opened his mouth, but I jabbed him with my staff and he closed it. "Give up? No. Go home? Yes, go home. That vial is just salty water. Orichalcum is mostly copper. You've searched for years for something valuable, something to hide in your heart to give you wings, and you've started realizing just how worthless most treasure is. Sure, friendship isn't pure 'freedom'. Sometimes you've got to lend somepony a hoof, help them out. We bind ourselves to our friends, and in return, they bind themselves to us. Can it be restricting? Of course. Is it worth it?" I glared at him, until he realized the question wasn't rhetorical.
"You know," he looked down at my staff, "for a while, I really resented being taught, instructed, told what to do. It wasn't until, oh, the third time something my brother, sister, mother, father taught me saved my life I realized just how much strength I had because of them." He stared into the distance. "Everything they did, everything they made me do, I couldn't have come this far without. All told, what they taught prepared me, made me independent and strong. It gave me..."
As I watched, a curl of smoke rose from his back. He swayed back a step, right to the cliff edge. I heard crackling as tongues of flame licked around him, showing over his shoulders. Heat rose into the air, emerald fire dancing and shimmering on the wind. It rippled the sunlight, distortion pulling and tearing at the shadows.
"Gave you?" I grinned and poked him once more.
"Freedom." He looked up, eyes locking on mine. "Sometimes, I feel like I could just..." He smiled beatifically and stepped backwards, falling flat as he tumbled from the cliff. I rushed to the edge, leaning out to watch.
He flipped in midair, showing me his back. The back of his wrap was burned away, a charred patch revealing thick, jagged purple scales. Two ridges had appeared, perforated with holes. Flame was leaking from them, long streamers of green fire that writhed and squirmed in the air. He fell fast, but they grew faster, twisting and merging into sheets of roaring incandescence that dwarfed his falling form. For a moment I thought he wouldn't make it, that he'd need to trust the branches to break his fall, the strength of his scales to survive the landing, but he pulled through. With one final surge the flames pouring from his shoulders bunched, knotted, swirled, and unfolded into wings, glistening, gleaming purple wings that snatched at the air and threw him skywards even as the last of the fire faded.
"Thank you!" he yelled, even as he swished past the cliff.
"No problem," I muttered, half to myself. Leaning heavily on my cane, I started down the pathway. "I swear, youth these days. Run off looking for answers! Surely when you're somewhere else you'll be smarter. Go talk to old Rishi! He lives with no mattress or flush toilet, so he knows what's going on. Blech." I looked up, though, and smiled.
High in the sky, a glowing dot was scorching its way across the blue.
Home.
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Quite possibly the best story I've read in years, and it has such a great feel to it. The hoard items and dragon-magic was written well enough to be accepted instantly without a thought otherwise. This is definitely how I'd want Spike to be in the future, and I'm loving your shaman.
10/10
That was... Amazing!!! These kinds of stories never really appealed to me before, but now that I've read this one, I can't imagine why! Thank you for writing this! I especially loved your choice of diction!
I sense a disturbance... as if Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda were combined into a Zebra.
I am also ok with this.
5162393 Thank you very much! I was a little chary of publishing this, since the first draft was just intended for practice, but after my proofreaders put a lot of effort into helping me improve it, I thought it was worthwhile.
The dragon magic is actually something I thought up for another (much longer) story, which I've been considering as one of the options for my next project.
5162397 Thanks! It seems to me lots of the shorts on this site tend towards either random or dark, which I'm not a particular fan of myself. I was trying for a more hopeful tone, so maybe that's part of it.
5162596 Heh, that might not be far off; with a sizeable dose of world-weary snark, perhaps. I had fun writing Rishi, although I considered using Spike as the viewpoint character, I'm glad I didn't.
A truly amazing piece of writing, needless to say I loved it. I also love your idea of dragon magic, I've been trying to think of my own ideas for dragon magic but never came up with something so original or fitting for a dragon. Once again excellent work!
Pulled me in from the first paragraph and just delved deeper and deeper. Magical and profound, just like your last story I read.
As Spike flew home on his new wings a panicked thought crossed his mind.
'What will Rarity think? I just flamed her cloak she designed specially for me!'
"I'm dragon toast!"
Tolkein reference. +500 points.
5163493 Thank you! I simply tried to organically extend the principles seen in the show, and that's where I ended. If you find it interesting, by all means use it.
5164354 Thanks! I'm very happy you enjoyed it so much.
5165085 Man... I didn't even think of working Rarity into the story like that. It could have been part of his hoard.
5165125 Caught the (very obscure) Tolkien reference; +9001 points. :P It was going to be either Ancalagon, Ninereeds (Terry Pratchett), or Shimergloom (R.A. Salvatore), but I love Tolkien's pithy names the best.
You wrote this for practice? I think you're ready.
Honestly, I loved your depiction of Dragon magic and biology, it works well. Plus I love seeing Dragons as ultimate lifeforms. Spike has become very wise already.
5166027 I, uh... thanks?
5167755 Thank you very much! I did spend a considerable amount of time polishing, but I didn't set out to write a story to publish; that came after one of my pre-readers put a lot of work in, and I started feeling invested.
I've seriously considered submitting stories to paying venues. Maybe one of these days I'll have a non-MLP idea that really grabs me. Or maybe I'll spend my time writing the longer Spike-centered story I pulled those ideas for magic from.
One word Wow.
Such wisdom. I like how you portrayed Spike.
5169819 Thank you!
5170202 Thanks! I changed several things in order to make their conversation seem more genuine, and I'm glad it worked.
5163142
I was thinking the magic of the dragon hoards is not unlikely the one of the "Keys" which opened the box of the Tree of Harmony.
Pretty damn good. Of course, when you write like this, you know I'll always want more, especially back story-wise.
I knew a guy named Rishi in secondary school. Punched him in the fucking face.
That was quite the interesting story. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it, but I liked it. Good stuff.
5189268 Thanks! I'm glad you liked it.
Magnificently done, good sir.
5191856 Thank you!
Wonderful oneshot. The polishing and editing you claim to have done shows, as the whole thing flows and transitions very smoothly. Spike's three-paragraph description of his adventures gave me the same rousing feelings as the opening crawl of a Star Wars movie, coupled with the mystique of PJ's Tolkien adaptations. And Spike's blazing climax could almost be called exhilarating!
5322269 Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I'm very happy both the flow and the 'adventurous' feel I was going for came across well.
Hmm... encouraging comments... I should write more. :P
Amazing. I disliked it because yin-yang and shit. But still, amazing.
-SYA, The Horse
5421048 Well... ah, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :/
Really liked this a lot although I'm not entirely sure I saw the wisdom. Well, Spike certainly did and he did it beautifully and very much in matured character.
Heh, story of my life.
Good work.
5442349 Well... to be honest, I never intended to write a 'deep' story. My aim here is to entertain, so I grabbed some concepts and wrapped them up in interesting characters. For what it's worth, though, Spike's realization was intended to be something like: what's valuable doesn't need to be far away or hard to find, and 'freedom' is not always as simple as 'a lack of boundaries'.
Still, all that is filtered through both my narrative and the reader's experience, so the story may convey something entirely different. I'm happy enough that people have enjoyed it.
5442812
And good on you for that. There are too many 'deep' stories that don't have clearance for larger boats so to speak.
It's a very enjoyable story and it gives a good many points for the reader to relate to.
The old shaman's mutterings at the end give it a beautifully worded moral and good closure though.
How...
is that the right question to ask? I surely feels like it. But I know that asking it would be meaningless, for it'd not give me the answer I expect, but the one you belive would be right, and despite how egotistical it might sound, what you think and what I want are not the same.
All I think I should say right now is "thank you". I think about many other words and sentences that should follow those "thanks", but they eventually turn into "thank you's" as well.
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you...
I'm bowing down even if you can't see it. I respect you and your work. I respect the way you choose your words and the order you write them in. I've learned a lot I can't put into words right now. I'm not even sure I understand half of what I've in my head now.
I've to thank you just one more time.
I owe you a present. I'll finish it some day. It'll be a story I hope you enjoy then, nearly as much as I enjoyed yours now.
5443912 ...how? Well, it goes something like this...
Life.
You're welcome, and I'm glad you've enjoyed my words. I'll eagerly look forward to your story, and whether I enjoy it or not, I'll definitely cherish it, because a honest gift is a wonderful thing.
5165167 This is a bit silly but I didn't know that you had replied to my comment so I just wanted to say thank you thats a very kind offer and I appreciate it. Obviously if I was to use your idea I'd ask for permission and give credit but first I need to find the courage to start a fic lol. Seriously though thank you and good luck with your current/future projects. P.S. Sorry for taking so long to respond.
10\10 love
5510101 Hey, no worries; things are easy to miss. No pressure, but you should definitely give writing a shot sometime. I might be biased, but I think it's a lot of fun.
5522277 Thanks!
I quite like the story. It plays around with a lot of common elements that one typically finds in these types of stories, like old and wise zen masters, legendary trinkets, etc. I like how Rishi seems more eccentric and down-to-earth compared to the usual givers of knowledge in such stories (like Rafiki in Lion King or something), how mundane things like the skystone and Spike's hoard actually were (even if they did end up having a pronounced effect on him; some very interesting ideas you've got there regarding dragon magic). And ultimately, turning these tropes on their head helps contribute to the moral of the story - how important are vague, mysterious riddles that are only ostensibly wise? How important are treasures that are nearly immeasurably valuable without loved ones with whom to share those values?
One other thing I do find noteworthy is the sudden shift in tone when Rishi calls Spike out by name. By that point it was already pretty clear who the dragon was, but just revealing it like that, along with the playful banter regarding Zecora, changes the ddirection the story felt like it was headed towards drasticdrastically. While I'm not complaining about the end result, I do wonder what direction the story would have taken if there wasn't the name drop. I imagine it'd be more sobering, among other things. Would that be an improvement to the story? I dunno. It's definitely not a major factor, but food for thought nonetheless, I suppose.
All in all, I think it was quite an enjoyable read.
5692514 Thanks! The dragon magic is a system I roughed out for a much longer story, which I've shelved for the time being.
I drew inspiration for Rishi from Terry Pratchett's witches; Granny Weatherwax in particular. I've always liked his down-to-earth mystics.
I'll be honest; I didn't intend a tone shift when Spike's name is said. It's more likely the tone shift unconsciously happened when Spike decides to return without the skystone slightly after, as that's more of a turning point in the narrative; if I hadn't mentioned his name, it would have likely continued in exactly the same way, just without those few lines. If he had taken a piece, the narrative would have ended quite differently, possibly on a nearly opposite note.
I wrote a review of this story; it can be found here.
Man, I really enjoyed this.
The beginning, as most beginnings tend to be, was a little overwrought, but it contained enough powerful and distinct images to justify it. It also did a good job of introducing Rishi, so well done on that count.
The middle was where this was strongest. I enjoyed the guarded dialogue between Rishi and Spike, each of them testing the waters, trying to figure out the other's motives and intent -- great stuff. The explanation of dragon magic and the significance of the hoard was wonderful. A fantastic piece of law.
The ending was the weakest part. Clever, crafted dialogue devolved into lengthy monologues, which felt like they should be inspiring but missed the mark. Spike's realisation also felt a little clunky.
One thing that particularly annoyed me was the sudden one-eighty that Rishi pulled. In the middle, he is awed by Spike's trinkets, and yet here he dismisses them -- the oricalcum he calls copper, the tears salty water. The inconsistency nagged at me.
But that moment Spike gets his wings made up for it. Damn was that visually impressive. I loved every moment, from the wings of fire, to the tiny holes in his back. Great writing.
So yeah, on the whole, I thought this was a great piece. Nice stuff, Hat!
EDIT: Rishi was great.
5877500 What Risihi is supposed to be doing when he comments on the hoard a second time, is highlighting how value is something we attribute to things. None of Spike's treasures are valuable for what they are; they're valuable for where they're from, or who gave them and why. Tears, for example, mean a lot more when they're shed for people instead of onions. It's intended to play into Spike's realization that he doesn't need a new treasure; he needs to value what he has more strongly. But I may have mishandled it somewhat, if that's not clear.
Still, I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for the comment.
5880470
What he is trying to do is clear, but I still feel a little bothered by it. That's just a personal reaction, though. Feel free to disregard it
I think that should be "IT doesn't look like much."
"...finally freeing A small cubic crystal."
6069239 Fixed, thanks!
...sorry, I sort of intended to do that and then forgot.
I like this one. An interesting look at draconic hoarding. I'm curious though, how old did you envision spike while writing this? Or at least, how much older? It's definately an interesting concept how direct you made the correlation between his magic and what he treasures.
Also made me think a bit, if dragons live for thousands of years, maybe they're not as selfish as everyone thinks. At the rate most humans collect trinkets and keepsakes, they would have quite a hoard after a few thousand years.
I think you mean "crude".
Double space.
7377519 "Rude" is an old-fashioned way to say "crude, primitive, natural", from about the same time that "nice" was a way to say "detailed, precise, delicate, small".
7616581 Fair enough. Suppose I should've double checked the definition on that one.
Cool story bro ;3 i'm new here and idk how this works yet lol
I've grown and so has this story on me.