Thread:Skyebreeze/@comment-5647250-20190202055153/@comment-5647250-20190202214837

Imp: (he hops up lightly, thin leathery wings spreading out from his back hold him afloat) Well met, Airells. (the fake seven-league boots disappear, but he follows up with another chant) My creation; a momentary facsimile; hopes that lie within waters subterranean; a Wishing Well. (there's a sound of the earth cracking, followed by the false wishing well sprouting from the ground underneath the boys, its sudden appearance arching to strike them from below)