Gwyn chirped high, her song a melody of joy. She was excited--this was the second dragon she had met since her hatching. The first was also a green, Suli, but she was adorned with black stripes and a sleeker figure than this dragon now. As the white youngster darted between trees she communicated with the elder, releasing her name. Gwyneverre. Abraham blinked and looked into the tree momentarily. Gwyn nodded towards the elder. I taught. She reasoned with the green, looking back just right at the dark boy. It was true, she was beginning to catch things on her own now: small varmin, rodents, insects. Abraham still hunted for larger prey of larger rodents, foxes, and the like. Gwyn was still too small to take on these animals, and her fire glands had not developed enough yet. All she could do now was puff smoke, and so she did, in rings towards the green's face in a playful manner.

Gwyneverre growled and leapt towards Cynder, her tail lashing quickly, and she attempted to land on the older woman's back. The only display of playing she had witnessed were Loretta and Archibald, the red and white bitch chasing after the tyrant to nip at his feathered hooves, and Archibald to nudge her with his behemoth head. Abraham smirked some as the images played in his head, a constant reel of film connected to the small white reptile. Turning back to Tyradon he listened carefully. The black stallion seemed pleased and approving of Gwyn and the gift that she was. His smirk turned into a proud grin, an arrogant sort of painting on his young features. The prince nodded, his forelock lacing around his twin horns. Tyradon was young when he bonded to his dragon, and Abraham wondered if that was they way it happened with all dragons. He knew Loretta had been with his father for years now, but she was a bitch and not a dragon.

Tyradon spoke again, and the colt turned his body in a half circle to walk towards the steps of the Rotunda again. His young legs were tired of standing still and talking, but his ears did not miss a word. "Since I was little I have seen death. My father has his own companion and I had seen her hunt to feed herself. My brother and I practiced--killing squirrels and mice--and while Gwyneverre--that's her name--was still in her crystaline egg, I practiced more. I can kill foxes now." I tried to kill a badger once. It tried to kill me, too. He didn't add that, but he turned his crown to look towards Tyradon with mismatched eyes, wide and full of contented pride. "I don't care about killing. I feel nothing for it." It was a true confession. The act he knew was a natural one--to feed his bonded, and to protect himself and his family. Abraham would be no stranger to handing the scythe, just as he knew his parents were not strangers. They were warriors, true and true, mercinaries and leaders. Blood had soaked their hooves, Circe confessed to it, telling the twin boys of all the wars her husband stood on the frontlines of, commanding soldiers with his thundering voice and deep knowledge.

"I need to ask you something--what is Nieque? I did not get my egg from that being, I would have remembered the name."