As he coiled to a cooler place, he was vaguely touched by the sentiment that she would not fly before him, but rather, slow her speed so that she was just above him, cruising at an altitude at which they would have been able to speak comfortably, if a little bit louder than usually. Unfortunately, they did not speak at all during the swift journey to the Delta, because the Crow found it quite difficult to converse intelligently while keeping up a speed that was- modestly put- astounding. With his slithering stride and arms and legs that had been strengthened from years of forces ground travel, he easily doubled (if not more) the speed of the common cheetah.

So it was unexpectedly swiftly that they came to the Delta, and immediately upon arrival our inky anti-hero slid into the cool rush of the water, which comforted him from the unbearable heat of the desert with speed. With a quick flick of a serpent’s tongue, he tested the temperature and taste of the water for drinking, and with a hum of delight, found it to his liking.

He waited in the water until his companion found a suitable place to land, quite content to lounge in the cool, fresh rivulets that rushed over him.

and here I was afraid you wouldn't keep up, keep up!

The beat of her wings was rhythmic, the hushed sound against the cooling air and the soft murmur of his feet hitting the earth—quick and profound—were the only two sounds the pair created on there way to the cooler place. She didn’t quite mind, she was far too busy soaking in the new sceneries around her even if it was only for a slight moment. Her desert twisted and melted away into fields, forests, woods, until it all mended into the rocky land and mumble of flowing water. In the distance the ocean glowed faintly, the humm of the waves hardly audible over the rush of the river.

His body slithered into the water easily, the dark greens of his scales almost at home among the cooler, neutral colors of this land. Rona landed on a rock beside the river, her delicate hands gripping the edge of the rock as she tucked her wings against her sides. She could feel the cool air rising off the water, breathing softly against her copper scales as she listened to the Crow comment on her speed. Rona blinked, her eyes pealing away from the pale blue of the water and towards him with a faint smile—her blissful eyes made up for it. "I didn't know you were so fast," she said softly, shivers racing down her spine at the temperature change closer to the coast.

She breathed in the new, wonderful smells while her heart still yearned to fly through the canyons of the desert. She had yet to travel over her new land, soak in what would be her home far from where the plague had destroyed her last. Her tail slipped into the rushing water and another soothing chill crawled along her spine. She was rarely near the water, but every so often she did love to bask in its unrestrained beauty.

When he had first slipped his serpentine body into the river, steam rose from his scales as a testament both to the heat of the desert as well as the natural heat that elicited from his poor, overworked body from running. He hissed his delight as the cool water rushed him, massaging his muscles with its current. After a while though, the cool of the water held no more allure for him, and he pealed himself away from the rush of its temperate flow slowly, leisurely.

Once again held in the familiar cushion of the air, no longer fettered by the oppressive heat of the desert or the wily chill of the river, he is free to examine her once again. He finds her even more lovely surrounded by trees than by desert- here, she is a ruby, a gem set brilliantly against a pattern of the soft green-and-brown pattern of the surrounding forest. Here, where the desert does not leech her vibrant colors, he finds himself amazed by the vividness of every coppery hue that has been splashed across her scales. She speaks. She shivers. She is charming.

Surely I don't seem so old and feeble as that, as that!

His velveteen voice purred against his throat in a sort of laugh that bubbles from his scaly lips- the assumption is always that he will be slow, with his odd, coiling gait and comparatively slight form. He admired her privately, as he admires all lovely things- the Crow did so love lovely things. He coiled around a rock that was near to her, wrapping his body neatly around the boulder like an anaconda around its prey. His head was lifted while his front paws rested delicately on the top of the boulder, content to let the sun dry his wet, glittering scales.

Do the cooler climes suit you? Their beauty is surly nothing to scoff at.

The implication, of course, was that the lush wonders of the forests matched- if not exceeded- the dry, crackling heat of her desert. While he had to admit that her home was indeed beautiful, he felt collared by the heat and bored by the vast, endless sea of sand.