A Collection of Lone Dancer Writings.

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Sparrow (2) 2

I, was a skywing called Sparrow. And I am having the time of my life. By not actually living you see. Because of some MOONS DAMNED FLYING BOULDERS, I got to experience death, what is it, 7 times now?

Can I just get this out of the way, death is unpleasant. It really is. It’s not this glorious thing, especially not one from being crushed by a flying boulder.

My scales were still not fully convinced I wasn’t in fact, a pancake. I have yet to move more than 15 meters away from where I wake up. Thanks to some truly wonderful, lovely, amazing, absolute BS flying boulders. I have no idea how they even get launched towards me.

And, for even more fun, the boulders don’t follow the same path. The lovelies are aimed towards me.

Having the ground shake and quake as you tried running, was great for stumbling. It is so hard to not trip and land on your face when the ground feels like liquid.

When I woke up, when I shuffled my wings about, I was hit like I was crushed once more. I had wings. I could fly. I could fly... Look at you, Sparrow, casually forgetting something so handy, such as flight.

I swiftly finished beating up myself, before scrambling into motion once I heard the cursed whistling.

Flapping my wings madly, I took the air. I watched as a barrage of large boulders crashed into the soil, splashing out dirt and pebble. It scarred the pretty blue-green grass.

I laughed at the boulders, a mad hysterical cackle. Of course, in the end, the boulders had the last laugh. I only heard the whistling at the last moment.

Black, white. awake, words.

[Congratulations! You died! Oooh, so close. Next time, try moving.]

I started going on an expletive streak, ignoring the boulder in my one sided tirade.

[Congratulations! You died! Was it worth it?]

No. No it was not.

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