[Naeva feels it. And luckily(?), Naeva grew up in a corrupted warzone where aerial attacks are not uncommon.
So she moves reflexively--no sooner is she out the door than she is no longer a smallish druid, but a large, pitch-black warhorse, hooves striking with something that hums through the ground, sparking like sunlight.
She can't talk, but a snort conveys meaning well enough:
no subject
So she moves reflexively--no sooner is she out the door than she is no longer a smallish druid, but a large, pitch-black warhorse, hooves striking with something that hums through the ground, sparking like sunlight.
She can't talk, but a snort conveys meaning well enough:
get on the hamaon horse, glory.]