Honeyed Pasture you smoke crack, dontcha?

after a brief moment to collect his thoughts, he curled his toes and stretched his limbs outward, eyes wandering in search of her cerulean gaze. "it's like a mountain, but it breathes fire and smoke" or so his mother had told him.

he'd never seen an active one himself, but stories passed through generations told of their power and destruction. "the one i was raised on was dead and cold on the inside, much like a cave" he tacked on a bit later as the sound of fowl filled the air around them.