Rowdy Table of Three and a Half
Arthur could feel weak waves of concern pouring through the connection he shared with his bond. Seraph rarely made requests of him.
The prince furrowed his brows at the tri-coloured bird, "I haven't flown since then… but what does it have to do with my core?"
"When Master flies, core… balances," Seraph replied.
Arthur could tell from the bond he shared that the word Seraph was looking for was 'stabilises.'
At his age, of course, he attributed stability to balancing his wings to catch the right amount of wind when soaring.
Arthur stared into the depths of his core for a clue of what his bond was trying to say. Inside him, a boiling sun continued to spill boundless amounts of flame essence with no end in sight.
Arthur rubbed the back of his head, "I think I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you and I believe you should be too."
The Solaris Wyrm in his hands perked up and nuzzled against his cheek, "Seraph is fine now that Master is here."