It's actually enough that he casts a startled glance over his shoulder in Sansa's direction. Not that he's shocked at the idea, but that he's shocked to hear his own thoughts reflected in such a manner. Looking at it, the reality of the dragon is utterly ten times more terrifying and ferocious in appearance than any fantasy he could have imagined. Blood dripping from its wounds, a corrupted madness in its eyes and breathing out a snarl that hits him as incredibly hot breath even as far away as he is.
...but it's beautiful, too. That's not a monster. Not something to be destroyed.
Its eyes were different before. The wild-eyed fear as it came through the portal. ]
It's sad... having an appearance like that. [ It's calmer now; soft-spoken, really, now that Sansa has begun leading the people back a much safer feeling distance. ]
Somehow I think -- [ He reaches with his right hand for the wrist of his left, grasping the golden crown that circles it there. ]
That maybe you might be more afraid than I am. [ And he is, even speaking so quietly.
He pulls on his wrist, drawing out a luminous great broadsword in a burst of transformative light, white as moonlight and emblazoned with a gold cross. As long as he is tall and almost as broad, and he takes off running diagonal to the dragon. Strafing.
It lunges forward and snaps at him, jaws gnashing shut in the air behind him as a thin tendril, glowing in the same manner as his cloak, whips out and binds itself around one of the horns curling back from the crest of its head. And he yanks on it from where it's connected to he cuff of his wrist to catapult himself through the air like an acrobat, landing lightly with his boots on its neck as it bellows and begins twisting to try and reach him. A wing snapping out and smashing against another building on the other side of the street, tail lashing angrily and scattering carts and street lamps.
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It's actually enough that he casts a startled glance over his shoulder in Sansa's direction. Not that he's shocked at the idea, but that he's shocked to hear his own thoughts reflected in such a manner. Looking at it, the reality of the dragon is utterly ten times more terrifying and ferocious in appearance than any fantasy he could have imagined. Blood dripping from its wounds, a corrupted madness in its eyes and breathing out a snarl that hits him as incredibly hot breath even as far away as he is.
...but it's beautiful, too. That's not a monster. Not something to be destroyed.
Its eyes were different before. The wild-eyed fear as it came through the portal. ]
It's sad... having an appearance like that. [ It's calmer now; soft-spoken, really, now that Sansa has begun leading the people back a much safer feeling distance. ]
Somehow I think -- [ He reaches with his right hand for the wrist of his left, grasping the golden crown that circles it there. ]
That maybe you might be more afraid than I am. [ And he is, even speaking so quietly.
He pulls on his wrist, drawing out a luminous great broadsword in a burst of transformative light, white as moonlight and emblazoned with a gold cross. As long as he is tall and almost as broad, and he takes off running diagonal to the dragon. Strafing.
It lunges forward and snaps at him, jaws gnashing shut in the air behind him as a thin tendril, glowing in the same manner as his cloak, whips out and binds itself around one of the horns curling back from the crest of its head. And he yanks on it from where it's connected to he cuff of his wrist to catapult himself through the air like an acrobat, landing lightly with his boots on its neck as it bellows and begins twisting to try and reach him. A wing snapping out and smashing against another building on the other side of the street, tail lashing angrily and scattering carts and street lamps.
Like trying to ride a giant, angry bull. ]