[Yang]

The sky was cold this morning. Soft, and baby blue; wide open and stretching as far as the eye could see, with ne'er a cloud in sight, save for the faded streaks and smatterings of white that only added to the diluted outlook of the early morning rise.

Arboris' eyelids closed, and opened, slowly. A deep well of wisdom, grown from his travels in and around the edges of the world, swirled from beyond deep emerald eyes. He watched with a soft, wandering gaze, perched up on that tree-covered hillside. Having been laying in the grass since dawn first broke, his marbled hide shone with dew; the frigid, but still-green grass was all but a fine mist of water and edging towards frost. Droplets clung to his smooth, scaly hide, and every hour or so his muscles would quiver, sending a cascade of rain to run down his sides, his legs, and his brilliant wings.

[Yang]

He'd been walking all night at a slow, steady pace, taking the sights and sounds and smells as he quietly made his way around the town. Despite his size, (nearly triple the height of a standard horse) he'd managed to elude any wandering late-night persons or early morning civilians. He'd found this tall, grassy hill, and with quiet flexibility, folded up and perched at it's very top, wrapped generously around an old maple tree standing at it's tip.

Peace. Without being surrounded by gossip or chatter, plauged by the questions or concerns or wandering eyes of folks who had heard of the troubles of the south, that had become agitating as time wore on. A coalesced worry that was palpable around too many folks.

Distant birds tittered, and a blue jay came and went by.
Arboris took in a deep, rumbling breath, and let it out slowly, sending a heavy 'whoosh' of breath over the brimming vegetation that spread out before him. His eyes closed, opening again to un-focusedly gaze ahead at the ruins of a grande idea that lay just ahead.

[Yang]

The area just below was littered with the old, and re-grown, ideology. Stones and pebbles, old gates and cobblestone; the iron wrought fence, though rickety and overgrown, still held its original place. Wrapped in lengthy grass and wandering moss, the nature added to the illusion of being decades old. Arboris doubted the age of the building to be more than a few hundred years old. Any older, and the decay would've been more rampant; the debris more outspread. As it stood, it was a slow, grande display of faith, and the gradual dissolve of stone.

The brilliant glass-work in the windows still stood strong. The artwork was still bright, the softly praying women in flowing gowns still lined in gold and colorful glass. Even from a distance, he could see the fractured detail and beauty.

[Yang]

Arboris glanced about the area.  The green grass with its fine mist, still untouched and crisp. Distant civilian life echoed in and around the area, but otherwise, everything below was still. Arboris' heavy head swayed, left, then right; Slowly, he began to un-ravel from his spot. Wings spreading and limbs retracting, he stood.
Towering above the treetops, he huffed; a few birds scattered, chirping as they went.

Perhaps a closer look, Arboris thought. Just a minute, before any wanderers or scavengers made their way through the trees or down the old passages.

A faint breeze picked up as he moved. Stepping down the slope with ease, body rippling under the growing sunlight as he walked along. Wings brushing the vegetation, rustling in re-alignment with his spine, he quietly stepped his way towards the gateway, open in its aged, broken-down way.

Cobble stones left in array, overlapping with grass and forgotten relic, swept by his gentle footsteps. Despite his stature and size, he was very light in his step, and very fluid in his movements. Gently he walked through the massive yard, careful eyes combing over the small distinctions left in the front yard of the decrepit church. Pebbles and rocks, some misplaced pieces of alabaster and loose trinkets of silver.

[Yang]

Arboris lowered his head, getting a generously close look at the tiny things left behind in time. A particular thing made of silver had caught his eye; Coins, he thought absently. Old coins, from back when the floor of any religious building would be made of dirt and dust. Farm-bound families and work hands would've flooded the chapels every early Sunday-morning, and bright and early a  flattened silver platter would've made its rounds. Held aloft by shaky old hands, those who would drop a coin or two would hear a kindly 'thank-you' and blessing, a murmuring soft and warm as the summers day.

Looking elsewhere, he turned towards the glass windows. Each told a story, held up in the light with reds, blues, gold and greens, most of them depicting women in flowing gowns and thing, modest crowns. Golden suns created halos, and the story of harvest, life, and Gods wrapped around the building. He moved around the Cathedral, walking with a quiet leisure, regarding each piece of glass-work with an inquisitive eye and a wandering, inquisitive thought.

[Yang]

distant birds twittered as Arboris walked parallel to the stone walls. These intricate glass art-works and designs, hoisted up where the general public couldn't reach, but still allowed passer-bys a glorious view of the somber, all showcased a similar white-faced women.

His neck arched, taking in a lengthy piece. The suns rays made an effective halo around the woman, praying with closed eyes and a sweeping-motion to her dress and humble design, a symbol of religion hanging from her hands. Arboris hadn't spent his travels learning of religion; faith was what he understood, and had seen many monks, humble and prude commoners, and power-laden people leading into it. Religion changed, and often, some tales hardly blipping on the surface of known communities. This one, with such a magnificent, if derelict building, was a show of very strong faith; though the religion itself, was lost to him.

Arboris' forward momentum stopped as he reached the entrance. Its old doors were dusty, nicked here and there from old and long forgotten incidences, but still held strong. He tilted his head, attempting to catch any sound or sign of anyone near. It was still early enough that there were no voices or footsteps coming in his general direction, and so lifting a massive hand, he gently placed it on the door, and pushed.

[Yang]

The heavy wooden door, creaked as it gradually swung open. It's rusted hinged echoed in the spacious area, bouncing off its stone walls and wooden seats. Beams of light streamed down from the ceiling like an act of God;  or because of the chipped holes that marred the high roof.

Arboris slipped inside quietly, looking around the lot. It was fairly straightforward as far as a chapel went; rows of seating where multiple persons could sit and prey, a podium standing tall at the front with a rather impressive statue just behind. It had all the bits and pieces for a religious place of status to have, save for the lack of people and the ages and ages of dust left to gather. Sticks, twigs, leaves and dirt littered the walkways, and many of them quietly snapped as Arboris walked on forward.

The building was large enough that he had a fair few feet ahead to walk, and he took the opportunity to do so, peering between the seats for more signs of past-life.
There was nothing outside of a few crumpled papers, probably blown in from an aimless windstorm one night, and.. a single, book. It looked like the only thing that hadn't aged, though it did have a fine film of dust on it.

[Yang]

Arboris' heavy head leaned in, nostrils flaring as he took a light sniff, gadging the book. His senses weren't too fine, as big as he was, and lifting a large hand, found the book was difficult to open with a claw. A quiet minute of 'paf' 'pafpaf'  sounded as he tried to open the book cover; At-least, it fell open, and he attempted to look closer.

His body took up the walkway, and the lengthy wooden seats were pushed when he leaned in, pressing his nose tot he musty pages. Despite this, the words were far to fine-printed to read. Arboris huffed, and let the curiosity win; with a great sweep of his wings, his form wavered and swallowed itself, until left standing in the center of the church, was a young man, partially crouched, and very naked. He drew a careful breath. And let it out just as carefully.

Shapeshifting wasn't exactly painful, but it wasn't pleasant either- it was so difficult to keep up with modern etiquette and language that he avoided it altogether. Reading, though, was one of his finer passions, and in this early, empty decrepit building, he knew he'd more than likely be alluded altogether.

[Yang]

First his wings gave a shimmer; then his muscles began to quiver. In a slow, almost incomprehensible fashion, his form began to melt away. His tail pulled in and his lesg began to shorten and by the time he begun leaning towards the book again, it was a deep brown human hand that grabbed it
.
A handsome man stood where the massive Paragon had been. The same deep knowing eyes, strong body and confident disposition, flecks of white and mint green in tousled hair betrayed the show of age; late 40's to early 50's, his skin still shone with the small smooth scales and carried his natural colours.

Gently lifting the book. A thin mouth relaxed in a frown as he gently turned the pages.Standing nude, he leant against the wooden bench, peering at the civilian language that was, while faded, well legible.

[Yang]

The book was held gently as he flipped the pages, skimming through the information and the story that unfolded on the pages. This one book, he assumed it was the book for the church it was found it, seemed to focus on a holy mother- a pateron of peace, famility, protection and guidance.

He flipped on, still picking up bits and pieces of information and the story that was built. His internal translation was rough, but it made a solid idea; where these people worshiped the woman for good deeds, and prayed for her to give them what luck and prosperity she had given others.

Arboris could remember when he had lost his way-  it happens to everyone eventually, and he'd been no different. Younger and far more adventurous, he'd been wayward and wound up in the path of some unforgiving folk. What little life he'd built up for himself had been taken away, and he had nothing-  nothing but his body, his soul, and where he stood. At that time, he turned to faith and prayer. It wasn't a miracle that saved him though, but the kindness of strangers, and his own stubborn will to keep moving forward.

[Yang]

His hands, soft and sensitive, gently brushed the pages. He'd a newfound appreciation for what religion and faith could do for someone- anyone. It was a rock of hope, and for those lost at sea (whether by their own misfortune or by others) there was always a reliable source of hope. Believers, no matter from which religion, were always up to open arms for the wayward and the downcast.

Arboris regarded the book with a serene look of respect as he flipped to the end, rubbing its cover again with his bare hands. It was old, dusted; water damage had been clear, but despite the elements, it was still legible and had resurfaced his trust in the faithful and the helpful. Even if this building-beautiful, mysterious and lost- was left behind in ruin, the faith still lingered.

He replaced the book gently on the bench he found it, and stretched. He felt good-  very good, and soaked in the beams of light that dappled through the patches of holes in the roof above. While the shift from Paragon to (mostly) human would leave him drained of inner energy, it was still a grand idea to enjoy the nature in it's brilliance.