Offense. Rage. Demolision.
Gwyneverre spins around at the colt's words. NOT A QUEEN? BASTARD BOY, I WILL SHOW YOU QUEEN. Before Abraham could react, Gwyn is lighting up the scene once more. A warning to the boy and his tongue, though it was a testament to her deep power. Fire bellows forth from her jaws, belly and breast alight in the orange glow once more. The white draconian girl sets the ground beneath the young fool's tiny hooves to fire. For this dragon's young life, to date, this was the most fire she had let pool from the depths of her belly. She is raging. Her eyes are glowing with malicious intent, the dancing reds, oranges and yellows flickering dangerously. Her fire stops, but the wildfire on the ground spreads and is wild, with every intent to burn the black and white colt where he stands.
Abraham spins on his heels, watching as Gwyneverre sets the island grass on fire. "Watch your tongue against us." He scolded the young boy, eyes narrowed darkly. "Gwyneverre is a queen of death, of fire, of destruction. She has ended life, and she will continue to conquer those that oppose her. 'Tis wise to curb your tongue, Volterra." Abraham's words are but a snarl, cold and dark on his lips. He stared down at the younger boy, chin tucking some with dual horns pointed dangerously, glistening in the sunlight shining from above.
"The cloud brings all without wings." Abraham finally spat, ears tipped back with annoyance. Time was too slow to temper this child, and Abraham was bringing it upon himself. "You feel bulletproof but you are not. You are young and weak and small. Do you understand? Hold the piss that pours from your mouth. THINK. Who do you even think you are? You have barely seen the world--you know nothing! You are but a maggot in this world, having just spilled forth from your mother's womb!" Abraham tosses his head, voice booming as he rears some, anger flashing behind his mismatched eyes. "You cannot even fight. A bird could take you to the grave." He stops again, amulets bouncing heavily against his neck. The Leviathan snorted, stomping his forehooves into the ground, wishing he could send deep tremors to knock the child on his ass, just as his sire could.
@[Volterra]
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