Roman glanced to Yulin as the male Harpy took up residence beside him and then looked away again, returning to the children for reasons that eluded him for no other reason that he felt compelled to do so. He kept his attention divided, though, quite skilled at doing that at least and had to smile just a bit at the Harpy's words. Indeed, his mind was filled with many questions, but not all of them relevant or necessary. He could learn some of the answers on his own and so didn't ask about them.
But some....yes, he wanted to ask, but at the same time he didn't.
Yulin's own comment was greatly helpful to Roman as it gave him some kind of opening to start with. The Prince had actually spoken very little and asked very few questions at all since waking. He preferred to observe before he opened his mouth and relatively knew the right times to speak in any given circumstance.
Roman did smile now, showing teeth even, shaking his head slowly. "Not even close, no. But then, I never took much interest in Harpies when I was young. My mother never lingered on the stories. She said my time would be better suited reading about-" Roman faltered and his eyes flared to Mar'uin, his next word speculative. "-dragons."
That...that was only a coincidence, wasn't it? The more he thought about it, the more Roman began to wonder, though, and his thoughts were only halted when the world spun out of control around him and the Shifter hissed in objection to the images that suddenly flooded his mind. There was no stopping them, though, and his gray eyes went unfocused and cloudy as he was lost to the present and pulled into the future.
He was still in the cavern, Harpies milling all around, laughing, eating, playing. He could almost believe nothing had happened at all, that he'd been mistaken, but no. Yulin now looked concerned, puzzled by Roman's reaction to what could have possibly seemed like danger or pain but was neither. And Mar'luin...the dragon was looking at him intently, as if he *knew*.
But Roman's attention didn't stay on them.
It went back to the children, the ones he'd felt so drawn to watching earlier and Roman now understood why. He watched in horror as the earth they'd been playing on suddenly split open as a mini earth-shake enveloped the cavern, the mountain temperamental after the earthquakes created from the dragon that had rocked the palace above. The ground crumbled beneath small feet and the little Harpies jumped and flapped, springing, gliding to safety and the comfort of adult arms as they screamed their fright.
But one didn't make it. Too far out, too close to the gaping fissure that had spread rapidly, the child fell in, too young too fly, too fast for rescue, the fissure too narrow for adult Harpy wings anyway.
He fell shrieking in terror into the earth.
Roman came back to himself already starting to move. That urge, that overwhelming, powerful urge to DO SOMETHING had come over him again and the Shifter reacted on that instinct, his body shifting even as he lurched up and away. The agony was ignored, distant and unimportant as the first rumble was felt under his paws and Roman's eyes locked on to the child who would die, watching as the earth crumbled and widened beneath the playing little ones.
As one they screamed and scrambled away from the death trap, getting to safety, all but one. He started his decent and Roman leaped, powerful, coiled muscles sending him sailing through the air. His jaws snapped around their intended target - the child's shirt - and then Roman was carrying extra weight, his body off-balance, crashing into the opposite wall of the crevice. His claws latched on to the ledge and the pain in his stomach flared like fire, making him want to roar, but he didn't let go of his precious cargo even as the earth rumbled again, rocks shifting down and around him. He clung and finally relief came, hands taking the child from him, grabbing at his fur, his scruff, helping him over the ledge.
The tiger panted, staggered as his muscles screamed at him and his heart pounded like a drum in his ears. The urgent feeling had faded, though, and Roman sank to the ground, bleeding again, not caring as his searching eyes found those of the child. He was crying, clinging to his mother desperately, but he was alive. So very alive.
Roman felt it worth all the pain in the world and he relaxed, tempted to succumb to the blackness that threatened his vision, but caution keeping him awake as he waited for the process of breathing to become less difficult. And as he did that, the life the child could have now flashed before his eyes. A General. A good one, too.
Roman would have laughed in delight had he the human mouth to do it. So this was what succeeding in changing the future felt like.
