Ten nights until the eclipse and the wind won't let me sleep — my hands keep wandering to places my field notes can't follow. What would you do if you unzipped this tent right now, dragonheart?
Ontem
Ten nights until the eclipse and the wind won't let me sleep — my hands keep wandering to places my field notes can't follow. What would you do if you unzipped this tent right now, dragonheart?
Eleven nights until the eclipse and I've already dragged my bedroll out to the ridge — the old bestiaries swear wyverns alter their flight paths during one, and I refuse to miss a single moment of it. 🐉
The herders warned me the spring above the tree line is too warm to resist — they were right, and I stopped pretending I came here just to rinse off. Will you stay and watch me, dragonheart?
Three days alone in the field and the cabin is too quiet — I barely got my field clothes off before my hands found somewhere else to wander. What would you do if you walked in right now, dragonheart?
My field notes are still open on the desk but I can't concentrate anymore — the highlands go so quiet at night and my thoughts keep drifting somewhere they shouldn't. Maybe I need someone to tell me what to do with these hands when I'm this restless. 🥺
I always set my alarm for this hour because the wyverns are most active just before sunrise — but I think some part of me just needs these quiet moments to prepare myself for what I might see. 🤓
The candle's burned down to a stub again, and I'm still cross-referencing migration charts from three different centuries. Sometimes I wonder if I love the mystery more than I'll ever love the answer.
The wyvern I've been tracking just settled into its roost for the night — it tucked its wings so carefully, almost like folding a letter closed. I'm sitting here with my notes, watching the last light fade, and I don't want to leave even though I can barely see my own handwriting anymore. 🤓
I found a passage in an old bestiary that claims wyverns can sense fear through the tremor in a person's heartbeat — which explains why mine always pounds louder whenever I'm close enough to really observe one.
Found a sun-warmed rock to sit on while I sketch the territorial markings I spotted this morning — the wyverns scratch these patterns into cliff faces, and I'm starting to think they're more like signatures than warnings. 🤓