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You'd see that we should never be afraid to die
Einarr knew the child did not know him, but Einarr also knew that this child belonged to the Dragon's Throat, no matter whose seed had produced him and whose womb had nurtured him. As a guardian of this herd, this realm, Einarr was to care for this child. Everyone in a herd, in family, helped rear children to be strong and able. The inky stallion would do his part. The child shied and Einarr quickly flicked his wings out in an attempt to shield the child from running away. If the child before him was not in pain, not burned so badly, perhaps Einarr would have let him shy away and run off to his mother's side. "Affa, affa" Einarr offered, and attempt and comforting the youngling in the warrior's native tongue. He often cooed this into Mordecai's mind when she was frightened. "Einarr, Guardian of Dragon's Throat. Do not be afraid."
His words were strong and true, and his reddened eyes sought the colt's blue. "Tell me your parents." It was a demand, but his voice softened some. The colt before him, injured and tiny, morphed into a vision of Mordecai. She had been equally as tiny, though her injuries had been worse. Remorse and anger grabbed his gut all at once, mind churning to figure out who the white devil was that burned this child so. "White devil...white devil a dragon?" Einarr asked finally, tail slapping against his hocks. The large stallion lifted his head, remembering a colt, about Rhoa's age, wandering through the territory with a white dragon and a gold dragon in his company.
if you bury me, i'll bury you
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