flight is what the soul demands ——
When it came to flying around and getting to places, Blits thought that he had it down pat. He'd been flying for a long time, albeit not as long as most. Not that it mattered, surely, the length for how long one was able to fly. For the longest time the wings that rested on his back (or his shoulders? He'd never really been able to specify such a thing) had hung uselessly behind him. The hybrid sometimes had been irritated by how dead the weight was that were his wings. Often Blits had chalked not being able to fly due to his hybridization. Did Blits know what he was a cross between? He knew dragon was in there somewhere. Otherwise? Not certain, but it had to be something with feathers. Probably. Being entirely certain of things had never been his strong suit. Blits had learned how to fly eventually, following an event similar to how a chick would be tossed out of the nest. While Blits would never wish plummeting to someone's death on anyone - well, mostly anyone, he would quickly correct - he could say that it had done the trick. His wings, no longer useless. Yes, they weren't like the wings of most other dragons where they had webbed wings. Yes, the feathers were hard to upkeep when his talons couldn't reach. Quite messy. Another thing that weren't too high on his priority list right now.
In actuality, he was lost. He'd gotten lost before, sure. He'd washed up on islands, ringing bells, almost getting stolen from, being attacked, kicking rocks. He'd even learned what a crab was during that little endeavor, that stay on that one particular island. Eventually he'd decided that it was entirely feasible for him to try and cross an ocean - and again he had been reminded that animals crossing oceans when they did not have high endurance or the ability to swim was a hard feat, a feat he had failed twice. That led Blits to the present, his orange eyes snapping open from wherever it was that he had collapsed. It left him to ponder if he passed out while flying again. If he'd arrived somewhere then surely he'd managed to cross the ocean, proving people wrong. Or he was dead. Both were valid and plausible options, both the first to come to his mind as he rose up to a stand. Shuffling on his ping feet, a sharp shake of his head helped himself snap to awareness. This was certainly a change in scenery. Blits tips his head, investigating the ground beneath him. He felt higher than normal, altitude wise. The hybrid certainly didn't understand the other kinds of high, no matter how often in the past it had been explained to him. A step forward from where he had risen, and step back. Is he, once again, trespassing? He lifts his head, sniffing, curious. It smelt like people. He figured it was people. Blits had never been good with association.
Blits gives his form a shake. Standing around like an animal in headlights was, by no means, what he planned to do for the day. Or night. What time was it? He hadn't checked and he certainly didn't know which way the sun was going. That meant it was daytime, if he could see the sun. The light always stung his eyes, wide pupils far more suited for trotting around in the depths of the night rather the rays of the day. A small circle is trotted in, his tail dragging behind him. The hybrid shakes his head, a soft snort sounding. "Oh yea. Lost. Definitely lost," he rumbles, a talon raising to scratch at his crooked horn. Perhaps it would be best to wait for someone to come? If what he smelled on the breeze was actually people and not some foreign kind of tree. Another sniff, although it didn't help elaborate what it was that was being carried on the breeze. People, food, something. He'd give waiting a chance, attention ensnared by the grass below him that he lowered his head to investigate.
