_{Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy} Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

He returns to the broken nest.

It lies upon the arch of his neck, tangled in his mane.

“Ka’Mate,” he breathes, and it responds; nothing more than a warbling little chirp deep within its crooked throat, for it has been trained so quickly to keep quiet, quiet. “Hushhhh,” Reginald coos, and it responds again, and the warble in its throat has diminished almost completely.

It learns well. Ka’Mate.

His Ka’Mate.

He isn’t sure why he has decided to return to this wretched, glorious battlefield of conquest. It’s not until he gazes down upon the traces of red—very faint, all that was left of the tattered, one-breasted remains of the harpy bitch—that he feels a tug of disappointment, and he understands, finally, why Ka’Mate would have benefitted to come here. “…I’m sorry,” he purrs, disappointment clear in his vocals; Ka’Mate stumbles its way along the line of Reginald’s neck, coming to rest atop the poll of the grey master. “…I meant to feed you here. Something real. Something good for you.” Rabbits are fine fare for a growing raptor—yet he had wanted something grand for Ka’Mate to sink into, something that would have completed the cycle once and for all.

No matter.

He turns away, and Ka’Mate’s eyes are yanked from a sight that had been mesmerizing; a sharp cry escapes a heavy black beak (”Hush, hush,”) that falls quickly out of volume—learning quickly, attuned to the grey master. Reginald is enthralled. Ka’Mate’s hunger drives to him; he can feel it pulsing within his mind, a burning curiosity and rage boiling in a manner that he understands so well. He nearly laughs in delight for this strange new sensation—this connection that has been forged in blazing sparks and iron. They are one.

“…here,” Reginald says, coming upon the remains of a splintered tree, a scattered nest. “Here is where you were laid,” he explains, wondering if Ka’Mate would understand. The chick peers from its place in black locks, blinking dully down upon things that make no sense, which it doesn’t care for. It garbles in the back of its throat (”Hush, hush,”) which instantly quiets down; he grows impatient and starving, and Reginald can feel it across their bond. The Grey-Eye’d prince chuckles. “Of course,” he says, turning away. “We shall hunt--“

Cheep, cheep, cheep.

He stops.

It is faint—buried, he realizes, by a sand that retains warmth. His heart flutters for a moment, wondering--daring to wonder the possibility. Ka’Mate does not understand these things. It does not care. It shifts uneasily from its spot atop Reginald’s head as the hulking beast begins to search around the broken nest, for signs of something he does not dare himself to wonder.

Cheep, cheep, cheep.

It does not take him long.

Sand had been blown atop its face, and so it was hidden from a nonobservant eye—yet he can discern the sublte gleam of an egg atop the surface of the sand. He wastes no time; Ka’Mate is almost thrown forwards in Reginald’s haste, and he forgets to keep quiet; he squawks angrily. Reginald forgets to reprimand it. He is busy with an egg that he frees from sand, and a clicking and tapping he hears inside the shell.

Cheep, cheep, cheep!

A crack appears.



@[Arrakk]

[Hatching thread for KA'ORA]
"talk talk talk"