inspirational song lyrics in lowercase

As he paddled, fins sticking from the water like a ship's masts and wings tucked like stowed sails, disaster struck. Well--not real disaster; but the innate chaos that made him flared up, a black flame flickering at his shoulder and then streaking along his shoulder like ball lightning. It burned, leaving a black mark seared through his Oily hide, and Manticore yowled and shifted instinctively to douse it. His body tipped in the water and then rolled, for a moment belly-up, massive clawed limbs tearing helplessly at the air.

Then he was upright again, sputtering and scrambling for shore. He turned, snapping at his shoulder as he went. "NO!" he told it. Whatever had happened, he didn't want happening again, and he was fresh enough out of his chrysalis that yelling at it seemed his best course of option. (Whatever 'it' even was.)

A moment later he was standing dripping on the beach again, glancing back at Mossie and snuffling. He had, ironically, already forgotten about her mentioning her memory in the heat of the moment. It wasn't that he'd truly forgotten--he'd remember, if reminded--but it'd been driven from his mind by the whole "randomly being set on fire" thing.

"We can destroy," he agreed, and turned, starting to claw together seemingly suitable stones for devastation. It wasn't clear exactly what criteria Manticore used; some stones he cast aside, others--after judging them with critical glowing eyes--he added to the pile.

He laughs a little at Mossie. "Don't worry, no harm no foul. I don't mind." It seems peaceful, for a moment.

But nothing lasts. Spinnaker squawks in surprise as Manticore ignites. He spreads his wings leaping up into the air as the valkhound splashes and jets back to shore. "What was that!? You alright, pal?" he asks, landing back down back on the edge of the beach.

He tilts his head. "If we're destroying, you better not destroy yourself in the process."

Chuffing, huffing, and otherwise making random large-cat sounds that definitely didn't seem like they should come from a dragon, Manticore clawed his pebble-pile larger.

He was considering his answer to Spinnaker--mostly because he didn't know--when Mossie answered for him. Bad shoulder. That must be it, then, right-?

Ultraviolet eyes swept to the cormorant and Manticore, with the wisdom of ages, gave back the words he'd heard exactly two seconds ago: "It was bad shoulder." Mossie seemed like she knew what she was talking about, anyway. He hesitated, and then added: "Fire." That also seemed correct. "I am all right." He was annoyed to have to say it, a gruff growl to the words: he didn't like being hurt. It--well, hurt.

Claws curved into the gravel, a snarl rippling across his features. Being hurt is bad! Anger bubbled up again.

He had been released as a test of a new design: a killer, a hunter, a beast to sow and foment Chaos. But at the moment, the Valkhound was focusing his energy very purely on the pile of pebbles on the beach, rage building in his stare.

No one could say that attacking substrate wasn't chaotic, at least.

Or that failing sometimes, seemingly at random, also wasn't chaos at its heart. What came out of open jaws was a thread of sulphurous smoke and a wisp of black-violet flame, barely enough to singe a single stone.

Manticore growled and stamped one massive foot in frustration. Then he looked to Spinnaker--as if the responsibility of Destruction now rested on his shoulders.

Spinnaker did think the yelling was a little ridiculous, but the eye roll is more metaphorical than actual. Either way, he kicks another stone onto the growing pile.

"Good to hear. It's important to stay in one piece," he hummed, shaking the water off his feathers. He watches as Manticore attempts to "burninate" the stones again, only for nothing much to happen. Well that's a little sad.

Then of course, the Valkhound looks to him for answers. Answers Spinnaker doesn't particularly have. Well, worth a shot. He runs up to the pile, poking them with a foot, before trying to knock them over with a buffet from his wings. A few of them go rolling down the beach, but there's still a sizable amount piled up.

Manticore stared in some bewilderment. Why were they throwing the stones around-? They'd just gathered those. They-

-Oh. Mossie had, in fact, broken a pebble.

He eyed it, and made another rumbling huffing sound. That--he supposed--was acceptable; the destruction of stone beneath a cat's claws. Okay, fine. He could work with that.

He stepped up and smacked the already broken stone, as if to reiterate what Mossie had done: a lesson taught to rock with the sheer willpower of living things. Then--immediately bored--Manticore looked up and around.

"What is this--where is--where are we?" he tried, blinking at his lack of language. "What is... this place?" There--that sounded right.

And once again, he looked to the two smaller Gembound for answers.

Spinnaker does have to admit that throwing the stones around is quite fun. He laughs a little as Mossie sends a bunch tumbling into the water. That'll show you, rocks.

He turns back to Manticore. "...where we are? I... don't know. A cave?" he offers, looking up at the cavern roof above. The twinkling cave lights glitter above.