ORIGIN

The Sentinel lifted his head, peering up at Haven. In this light he could hardly see her.

"The Sentinel will practice." He stopped, looking down at the crystals the dragon hadn't chosen to take. He felt he was probably supposed to say something, but "thank you" for whatever reason didn't strike him, or strike him as "right," at least. So he said, "The exchange will be remembered," and knelt to pick the crystals up.

Tick, tick, tick. The pocketwatch's quiet rhythm carried on; the dragon's wings beat, though, and the surf below crashed at the base of the rock, so that the ticking was hardly audible let alone echoing. He would need somewhere quieter to practice, then.

The pair of ethereal blue wings snapped sharply out, fully-formed and glowing bright; lights danced around them in bright cerulean sparks. Sentinel spared a last glance to Haven, who seemed ready to go regardless. "Perhaps the Sentinel will return, in time. The Forge will be required," he added, thoughtfully. "Its teachings have been welcome."

Well, it was the thought that counted, though it seemed he'd reverted to calling her "it" again. It probably was nothing personal, given the way he referred even to himself as it, and in the third person. Though seeing others as objects was probably not a great sign.

Whatever the case, he took rushing flight a moment later, careening over the edge of the outcrop like some bizarre black angel, halberd in one hand and two crystals tucked under his other arm, pocketwatch still ticking the time away where it hung around his neck.