The petals did not end in the center; smaller ones layered outward from the middle, creating rows of pristine white. Comet's leap, then, landed her on layers of them, and the whole of the flower briefly jerked.
There was a shifting, the entirety of the pond's water briefly displaced: a surge to and fro of a couple of inches, as if the substrate beneath had moved itself. And then the flower settled, quiet.
@Comet @James
The flower shifted again--faint, subtle, but there. And a low rumble echoed through the pond, vibrating the water.
The flower unfurled a little further, as if flexing, moving; vivid blue was visible deep within the center of each petal.
@Comet @James
The jumping up and down could no longer go unnoticed. There was an uncoiling, a vast movement in the center of the mote, the water sloshing away. The flower twisted partly closed as the pond itself seemed to surge into gradual motion: and after a beat, the white, draconic head of Lyn rose up from the dry center of the mote.
Beneath the flower was no water; it was the coiled body of the vast white serpent, and now sleepy eyes peered at the two who were playing across his back, and the opened flower of his tail. A confused sound escaped him, a loud and vibrating, questioning noise, not unlike a just-awoken cat.
@James @Comet
The creature did not answer. Glistening white scales flashed with quiet sparks: a lace of electricity danced down its body, briefly, and then faded. Serpentine head turned, long whiskers seeming to waver, as it regarded first Comet, and then James.
Long, scaled body coiled slightly tighter as the head rose higher from the mote. A dip of its head seemed to acknowledge James' apology, and then a quiet, contented sound toward Comet.
Lyn then curled back up, dipping its head back beneath the flower, as if unbothered by the presence of the two. His eyes, half-closed, remained where he could watch them: soft, attentive; but he seemed to be resting there.
@James @Comet