If he hadn't hated unicorns before, he sure as hell did now.

He looks back to the mare, his expression - which had softened as he looked at Cynder - hardening once more, to absorb his emotions back behind the mask and ensure his new companion sees no hint of weakness. Despite the sombre tone to their conversation, the beast's spirits are high; Confutatis is saying and doing all the right things, and the burgeoning seed of trust within the leviathan begins to sprout. He listens as she speaks, enjoying her name for him; dragon king. "Dragon king and demon queen," he murmurs, testing how the words feel upon his tongue. They are...agreeable. She is diplomatic, something he sees use in for the future - although he is a natural leader, he lacks tolerance, and is certainly far too shallow to see the potential in anything that isn't equine. He is blinkered, and he will freely admit as such, but this daughter of demons offers him sight. Providing her mongrels do not anger him, he can almost - almost - see the potential in having them as hired help.

He idly notes the tone of her voice, and lifts a blackened brow. "You speak with the wisdom and authority of one who has ruled before," he observes, his words poised as both a statement and a question. Perhaps that was why they got along so well - they had both tasted dominance, and would do anything to have it back.

She confirms that her companion is not a dog, but a kitsune - and that they are, in fact, mentally bonded. He glances down at the creature, fully observing him for the first time. He certainly wouldn't trade Cynder in for him, although he can see that the kitsune must have its own perks. As the mare gives her bonded's name, Tyradon's upper lip lifts in the smallest of sardonic smiles; how ironic, that she has named her partner-of-mind with the same name that he uses for anything that is not equine - something derogatory. This is not Isilme, she says, bluntly; the colossus lowers his skull for a moment, his mind roving back to his home. Isilme is gone now, purged in the fires of racism, but its traditions live on. It is hard for him to accept, but he knows he must; he cannot live in the past forever. "I assume the other species can bond as well, then?" he says, voice bitter; at least he has refrained from his favoured term of abomination. He pities the animals tied to unicorns or pegasi; they deserve to bond to superior minds, not the stunted brains of lesser beings.

Below their feet, the green war-dragon chirps happily as Mongrel accepts her gift; he returns with one of his own, a mouse. With one paw, the dragoness knocks the rodent aside and peels back her jaws to release a thin torrent of flame, so hot Tyradon can feel it warming his feathered fetlocks. The mouse sits, smoking gently, the meat cooked through; Cynder rips it in half with her claws and casts one half back to the kitsune. Her portion disappears down her gullet in seconds and she shoots her newest friend the draconic version of a smirk; try it.