Bleak meter: Neutral, leans slightly cheerful
Timeline: Between Seasons 9 and 10
The First Realm's light had never been kind. Most Hunters had been used to hiding from it as much as possible: broad hats, cowls, even long hair. Long sleeves and trousers despite the heat. During the worst parts of the day you might burrow under the sand if no other shade was available.
It was a rough one today. The air was a little cooler at seven hundred feet up, and there was a nice breeze, but Faith still felt sweat soaking through her shirt. She kept having to squint against the sunlight as Firstbourne swayed her course around passing clouds, lazily banking around the tufts of wispy white.
It had been a few calm flights, these last few times. Fly out, fly back in. No getting thrown off, no intentionally violent landings, no diving into thunderstorms or the ocean or the Underworld. Faith was starting to wonder if the giant dragon had gotten tired of toying with her and was now resigned to just letting her ride. On the other hand, another part of her was suspicious that all of this was just a ruse to make her lower her guard before something particularly unpleasant. Safe to say, her guard was not at all lowered.
They made a broad circle over the countryside and returned to Dead's End. The village's huts almost seemed to glow in the beating sunshine, heat shimmering between them. Faith leaned as far as she dared to look down over Firstbourne's shoulder, watching the tiny specks of her Hunters going about their work. It felt so strange to look down at the village this way, on the back of a dragon, the same dragon that had once nearly leveled this village to the ground. She glanced ahead to Firstbourne's blunt, blocky snout, wondering what was going on behind those cold amber eyes. Did Firstbourne ever think back on the time they had been enemies? Did she look down at the village with contempt or just indifference?
Firstbourne began a lazy spiral towards the ground. Faith began to gather her wits, knowing that landings were often the most injurious part of the operation. The dragon touched down smoothly in a meadow, her foreclaws leading, gently trotting a few steps to shed momentum. Faith waited for her to buck, or FSM forbid, roll over, but Firstbourne only shrugged and shook herself lightly, her gigantic form heaving underneath Faith. Faith, not one to wait for disaster, hastened to slide down the dragon's shoulder, land on her feet, and get out of stepping range. She turned to watch what Firstbourne did, wondering if the dragon would be irritated at losing her chance.
Firstbourne was ignoring her, however. She was shaking out her wings, flexing and spreading the tattered membranes, till she abruptly thrust them out to their full span, a taut, quivering tent of leathery flesh. Her head arced back, her rough face lifting to the sky. Closing her eyes, she rumbled blissfully, gently tilting her wings this way and that to better catch the sun. Her claws curled, piercing and overturning sod, releasing the sweet scent of crushing plants and warm soil.
Faith tilted her head, curiously intrigued. She had seen dragons sunning themselves before, at distance at least. They usually weren't relaxed enough to do it when Hunters were close by. But then, what did Firstbourne have to fear from Faith? Other than perhaps loss of her reputation.
Which was maybe a fair concern, to be honest. Faith couldn't quite pin down what she thought on seeing this, but she knew it felt strange somehow. This beast probably weighed as much as the entirety of Dead's End. Faith was used to seeing her full of contempt or cold rage; she was used to seeing her fresh from a hunt, blood smeared over her jaws and feet. She was used to a hard amber gaze that said any misstep or insult would be met with swift death. She was used to spending every second in tension, exquisitely aware of the three dozen ways this dragon could brutally kill her. It felt out of place to see her relaxed, unguarded, enjoying something as simple as the warmth of the sun.
For a moment she watched with her arms folded, taking in this strange scene. She was momentarily tempted to turn her own face to the sun, to see if it really was all that; even to go back and sit down next to Firstbourne for a bit. For a second she wished they could trust each other more than their current rough tolerance, and pictured what it would be like to rest beside the giant dragon without fear. Both of them just taking in the sun.
It was an impractical train of thought, though. She shook herself, swatting it away. More likely if she approached, Firstbourne would remember herself and come back down to earth full of ire. It wasn't a risk worth taking.
Still, as she turned to go back to the village, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Not that she would ever bring it up to the dragon, but she would have to hang onto this scene. It might be good to have a reminder that even Firstbourne wasn't made solely of steel.
Prompt was "Sunlight"