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Description
Donatello

Donatello hums in contentment as he soars over green and orange speckled mountains and valleys, languidly watching a flock of birds crossing the mountain range on their annual migration.
His enormous wings lazily catch the warm updrafts and effortlessly lifts him higher, despite the weight of his Sensei strapped to his shell.

The sun beats down and warms him to his core, the feeling a rare luxury that he could not have gotten back in the city, hiding away in dark, dank sewers and only emerging at night.

Now the sun fills his reptilian body with warmth and energy and he can move with an almost weightless speed.

His brothers fly nearby, they’re in a flight formation of their own, enough distance between them to allow for changes in direction or speed, but close enough to be in each other’s peripheral vision. For now they are silent, likely feeling a similar state of contentment as Donatello.

He is happy in a way that leaves his mind peacefully blank, a rare thing for the genius turtle, who’s brain is always buzzing with numerous trains of thought.

They’d left the city behind, having defeated the worst of their enemies shortly after acquiring their dragon forms, and having no other pressing matters to attend, they’d felt it would be a good time as any to have their first family holiday. Being mutants meant that they couldn’t enjoy any of the resorts or holiday facilities the humans did.

Instead they decided to go on a road trip.
In the sky.
Through the wilderness.

Don had already thought of the many ways it could go wrong before they even set out.

Leo had worried about the safety of the city and their friends in their absence.

Mikey lamented the lack of television and games.

Raph, surprisingly was the most excited about the idea.

When questioned, Raph had pointed out they would get to hunt for their food.
Don had sighed and rolled his eyes. Game hunting. Of course.

Master Splinter had suggested it, as a valuable life experience, a journey and exploration of the mind, spirit and body, and the opportunity to relax and unwind without any pressing threats from enemies.

They had been stuck in the city’s sewers for their whole lives, with Splinter as a mutant rat raising them. It was the least they could do for their Father and Sensei, to give him the opportunity to leave the confines of New York City, for the first time in sixteen years. Even if it was only for the season.

They knew all too well that their trip off the beaten path and into the unknown, would not be without its dangers. But what was the danger of bad weather, natural disasters, and wildlife compared to the Shredder and his Foot clan? Feral mutants? Or an alien invasion?

They’d battled all and come out on top, plus they could shapeshift between mutant turtle and dragon now at their own convenience.

If the weather turned bad, they could land, and if things on the ground got dicey they could fly off and leave without having to worry about human casualties.

It was great to be a dragon in battles, flashing teeth and talons and charged with their respective elemental powers, the thrill of watching the dismay grow in their enemy’s eyes, realising they’re outgunned. And it was proving quite useful out in the wild too, they were dragons more often than not out here. They travelled and hunted as dragons, sometimes slept in their dragon forms if they were too exhausted to change back.

But if Donatello had to choose a form permanently, he preferred being a turtle. His dragon hands were not so great for the type of fiddly work that he enjoyed in his lab.

However, as he discovered, with the first change came a mess of dragon instincts that affect him even when he’s just a turtle.

And some of the myths regarding dragon behaviour had a grain of truth to them – hoarding treasure for example.

Donatello always had a habit of hoarding junk since early childhood, when he began to tinker with things.

He was now the serial offender of compulsive hoarding in the lair. If something catches his eye, it’s in his hands and on his pile before he even realises he’s picked it up.

His family, even April and Casey have had to go searching through the small mountain of junk in his lab for missing objects, thankfully he’s not territorial with his hoard, unlike Michelangelo. His orange banded brother gets quite aggressive when anyone approaches his hoard, which coincidentally is in his bedroom. Donatello has even found him possessively curled up on top of his pile of toys and empty food packaging. Getting him out can quickly become a nightmare.

Even Leonardo is guilty of a small stash of random shinies in his bedroom.

One thing contrary to the myths though, was the sky hunger.

When underground in the sewers there’s always a niggling discomfort, that gradually grows more and more oppressive, until it becomes full blown claustrophobia, complete with panic attacks and eventual insanity.

Remaining a turtle slows the process down, but doesn’t stop it.

With the now constant need to feel the air currents and open sky above their heads, Donatello cannot comprehend the myths where dragons live hidden deep in caves for years on end.

After Raphael’s psychotic meltdown a few months back as a result from being ‘grounded’ for a week, their Sensei had to rethink his punishment methods.

When the temperature in the air began to steadily drop and fog started to obscure the landscape below, Splinter calls an end to their flight, it’s time to set down for the night. They circle the area, searching for a suitable clearing in the trees for their camp, the time in direct sunlight kept them warm during the day, but the forests on ground level are damp and frigid at night. They will need to make a fire and find food before settling down for the night.

Winter was on its way, it’s frosty tendrils nipping at their heels on their journey south to the tropics. They were nearing the end of the Appalachian mountains, and the land was beginning to flatten. Soon they would cross the plains and follow the connecting ranges of mountains, sticking close to the slopes and highlands to avoid people.

Don and his brothers alight on a rocky outcrop at the foot of an old worn down mountain, a thin stream trickles nearby.

When Donatello feels Splinter’s weight slide off his shell, he nearly groans aloud in relief.

Though his wings can easily carry the extra weight, his back does sag and grow sore from it.

He waits impatiently for Splinter to unbuckle the leather straps that secure the saddle to his shell.

The moment he senses his freedom he bolts, there is a soft patch of silt by the stream with his name on it.

His brothers hang back to watch in amusement as Donatello blissfully rolls around in the dirt. There is nothing a good roll can’t fix after a long flight, it certainly helps him straighten the kinks in his spine. He feels the gritty texture of sand grains scratching at his scales in a most satisfying way, and sighs happily.

In the background he hears Mikey snickering at his expense but he doesn’t care, it’s not like he’s the only one to roll in the dirt.

He pauses mid-roll to note Raph has moved to perch on a rock nearby, probably waiting for his turn, the hot-head gives an impatient flick of his tail and Don continues his rolling for a few more minutes.

He sits up and shakes himself off, earning an annoyed growl from his brother, not that it helps, the silt is damp and clings to his body.

As he returns to the clearing his father sighs in exasperation and lightly scolds him for getting so filthy, Don just grins shamelessly, he’d long since decided it was worth it.

Description
Donatello

Donatello hums in contentment as he soars over green and orange speckled mountains and valleys, languidly watching a flock of birds crossing the mountain range on their annual migration.
His enormous wings lazily catch the warm updrafts and effortlessly lifts him higher, despite the weight of his Sensei strapped to his shell.

The sun beats down and warms him to his core, the feeling a rare luxury that he could not have gotten back in the city, hiding away in dark, dank sewers and only emerging at night.

Now the sun fills his reptilian body with warmth and energy and he can move with an almost weightless speed.

His brothers fly nearby, they’re in a flight formation of their own, enough distance between them to allow for changes in direction or speed, but close enough to be in each other’s peripheral vision. For now they are silent, likely feeling a similar state of contentment as Donatello.

He is happy in a way that leaves his mind peacefully blank, a rare thing for the genius turtle, who’s brain is always buzzing with numerous trains of thought.

They’d left the city behind, having defeated the worst of their enemies shortly after acquiring their dragon forms, and having no other pressing matters to attend, they’d felt it would be a good time as any to have their first family holiday. Being mutants meant that they couldn’t enjoy any of the resorts or holiday facilities the humans did.

Instead they decided to go on a road trip.
In the sky.
Through the wilderness.

Don had already thought of the many ways it could go wrong before they even set out.

Leo had worried about the safety of the city and their friends in their absence.

Mikey lamented the lack of television and games.

Raph, surprisingly was the most excited about the idea.

When questioned, Raph had pointed out they would get to hunt for their food.
Don had sighed and rolled his eyes. Game hunting. Of course.

Master Splinter had suggested it, as a valuable life experience, a journey and exploration of the mind, spirit and body, and the opportunity to relax and unwind without any pressing threats from enemies.

They had been stuck in the city’s sewers for their whole lives, with Splinter as a mutant rat raising them. It was the least they could do for their Father and Sensei, to give him the opportunity to leave the confines of New York City, for the first time in sixteen years. Even if it was only for the season.

They knew all too well that their trip off the beaten path and into the unknown, would not be without its dangers. But what was the danger of bad weather, natural disasters, and wildlife compared to the Shredder and his Foot clan? Feral mutants? Or an alien invasion?

They’d battled all and come out on top, plus they could shapeshift between mutant turtle and dragon now at their own convenience.

If the weather turned bad, they could land, and if things on the ground got dicey they could fly off and leave without having to worry about human casualties.

It was great to be a dragon in battles, flashing teeth and talons and charged with their respective elemental powers, the thrill of watching the dismay grow in their enemy’s eyes, realising they’re outgunned. And it was proving quite useful out in the wild too, they were dragons more often than not out here. They travelled and hunted as dragons, sometimes slept in their dragon forms if they were too exhausted to change back.

But if Donatello had to choose a form permanently, he preferred being a turtle. His dragon hands were not so great for the type of fiddly work that he enjoyed in his lab.

However, as he discovered, with the first change came a mess of dragon instincts that affect him even when he’s just a turtle.

And some of the myths regarding dragon behaviour had a grain of truth to them – hoarding treasure for example.

Donatello always had a habit of hoarding junk since early childhood, when he began to tinker with things.

He was now the serial offender of compulsive hoarding in the lair. If something catches his eye, it’s in his hands and on his pile before he even realises he’s picked it up.

His family, even April and Casey have had to go searching through the small mountain of junk in his lab for missing objects, thankfully he’s not territorial with his hoard, unlike Michelangelo. His orange banded brother gets quite aggressive when anyone approaches his hoard, which coincidentally is in his bedroom. Donatello has even found him possessively curled up on top of his pile of toys and empty food packaging. Getting him out can quickly become a nightmare.

Even Leonardo is guilty of a small stash of random shinies in his bedroom.

One thing contrary to the myths though, was the sky hunger.

When underground in the sewers there’s always a niggling discomfort, that gradually grows more and more oppressive, until it becomes full blown claustrophobia, complete with panic attacks and eventual insanity.

Remaining a turtle slows the process down, but doesn’t stop it.

With the now constant need to feel the air currents and open sky above their heads, Donatello cannot comprehend the myths where dragons live hidden deep in caves for years on end.

After Raphael’s psychotic meltdown a few months back as a result from being ‘grounded’ for a week, their Sensei had to rethink his punishment methods.

When the temperature in the air began to steadily drop and fog started to obscure the landscape below, Splinter calls an end to their flight, it’s time to set down for the night. They circle the area, searching for a suitable clearing in the trees for their camp, the time in direct sunlight kept them warm during the day, but the forests on ground level are damp and frigid at night. They will need to make a fire and find food before settling down for the night.

Winter was on its way, it’s frosty tendrils nipping at their heels on their journey south to the tropics. They were nearing the end of the Appalachian mountains, and the land was beginning to flatten. Soon they would cross the plains and follow the connecting ranges of mountains, sticking close to the slopes and highlands to avoid people.

Don and his brothers alight on a rocky outcrop at the foot of an old worn down mountain, a thin stream trickles nearby.

When Donatello feels Splinter’s weight slide off his shell, he nearly groans aloud in relief.

Though his wings can easily carry the extra weight, his back does sag and grow sore from it.

He waits impatiently for Splinter to unbuckle the leather straps that secure the saddle to his shell.

The moment he senses his freedom he bolts, there is a soft patch of silt by the stream with his name on it.

His brothers hang back to watch in amusement as Donatello blissfully rolls around in the dirt. There is nothing a good roll can’t fix after a long flight, it certainly helps him straighten the kinks in his spine. He feels the gritty texture of sand grains scratching at his scales in a most satisfying way, and sighs happily.

In the background he hears Mikey snickering at his expense but he doesn’t care, it’s not like he’s the only one to roll in the dirt.

He pauses mid-roll to note Raph has moved to perch on a rock nearby, probably waiting for his turn, the hot-head gives an impatient flick of his tail and Don continues his rolling for a few more minutes.

He sits up and shakes himself off, earning an annoyed growl from his brother, not that it helps, the silt is damp and clings to his body.

As he returns to the clearing his father sighs in exasperation and lightly scolds him for getting so filthy, Don just grins shamelessly, he’d long since decided it was worth it.