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you will remember me for centuries
Abraham shifts, and Volterra allows his head to lift to catch his eye again. His gaze naturally darts, avoiding keeping lingering eye contact as a further sign of his acceptance as a lesser, because to stare is to try and dominate. The older one encourages him to embrace pain, but the colt shakes his head, wincing as the movement causes his fresh cuts to rip and ooze. "I'm not allowed to show pain. Makes enemies think you're weak, and you need them to fear you, because an enemy who fears you is halfway to losing already." That's what Mother has taught him, anyway, and Mother's word is gospel to the beastling. She is firm with her teachings, always pushes her children to the limits, but always knows when to stop. He respects her, adores her, and he thinks Nymeria feels the same. They are a wolf pack, all for one and one for all.
He is beckoned behind the older one and his white dragon, and the colt follows with as much eagerness as he can muster. The bounce is gone from his step, because each stroke of his hooves against the ground causes a spasm of white-hot agony to explode through each wound. He does his level best to keep pace with Abraham, though, stride elongating despite the considerable pain it causes him. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges, but he fights it aside. Must follow. Must be strong. "Where are we going, mister Abraham?" he asks, trying to inject his usual childlike cheer into his voice but coming up tragically short. He hurts too much to be able to sound as bouncy as before - he can keep the pain out of his posture but it's impossible to keep it from out of his voice.
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
