The Cliff.
#1 of Writing, for the sake of writing.
I had no idea what I was going to write when I started. I don't know now, as I wrote out this description first. I just decided it was time to write out something... so I did. Or from my present perspective, I will.
I'll stop before I confuse myself or anyone else.
(Post-writing) This is no more then backstory. Behold the dragon, his pride long since shattered, will to live fluctuating at best and prone to bouts of legendary violence and depression who's depths know nearly no bounds, and who's length is indeterminate. And see here his oldest and only friend who watched him muster the strength to take the coward's way out, the one step shortcut to the base of the cliff...
A solitary figure stands alone on the very edge of a cliff. It stands beneath a tree. A cherry tree, its beautiful blossoms having long since forsaken the tree, as it is autumn now, nearing winter time.
A cool wind wraps around the shaded figure, its body but a black silhouette in stark relief against the full moon beyond him, like a circular frame that almost, but not quite captures the shadowed person as it shivers, looking down.
It speaks, then. "You know that November has come..." it says enigmatically, or rather, he does, as the voice is obviously that of a male, though the body which owns that voice is far more thin then it should be, on the far side of anorexically so.
He slowly lowers himself, sitting on the edge of the cliff carefully, slender, bony legs hanging over the edge.
"...when it has gone." A new voice finishes for him, again male. "Hello, RhyThm."
"Hello, Mikhale..." replies the no-longer alone male. The newcomer is an anthro as well, an Anubian jackal at that, whereas the hybrid he sits down next to is a cross between Germanic dragon and a Kitsune, with some old wolf in him.
"You're troubled." Says Mikhale, more a statement then a question. "Why?"
Only a shrug in response from the emaciated hybrid, who's body seems at first to swell and grow, but then the huge sails of fur that are his wings unfurl, rising behind him majestically... before dropping to the ground behind him to just lay there. Now his ribcage is easily visible, as those huge wings had hidden his thinness.
Mikhale gives a shaky breath, swallowing heavily, "damn... in all the years I've known you..."
"Yeah." RhyThm cuts him short, his head dropping. His venture to this cliffside was the first time he had actually moved in a week, laying still on a couch between sleep and consciousness... and bordering on death, his body just quitting, as he seemed to have done. He hasn't eaten in 43 days...
"Rhy, come inside. Let's get you back to health agai-RHY?!" He i cut short again as the hybrid suddenly tilts forward off the cliff, falling straight down the the rocky base, which expands off into a rolling plain for as far as the eye can see, a sea of green that seems to welcome him into its stone maw.