The companions purred, deep and throaty, calling to the hybrids or commentating their moves, who knew - did he know? He was bound to them, another with two, the significance was not lost on Amaris - it called to her, her sensitivity to other dragons, can I even bond to one? In another soul, the significance of that question might have paused their motions, their actions might have wavered, hesitated; but in Amaris, the thought invigorated her, the mystery, the wonder of it all, inspired her body to twist and turn and writhe in a display of elegance, power, a demonstration of the blood that viciously, relentlessly pumped through her veins. The scent of sweat, the musk of motion and equine, dragon and unicorn flooded the cavern, and it was trimmed by the burnt, bitter taste of electricity and fire, of lightning and then the cool, scentless curiosity of ice and water and stone.
And then there were vines as well, the earth cracked and they grew to the ceiling, prodding to the heavens, risen from the hells below. The earthly scents erupted as suddenly as the vines themselves - Amaris was crossing the room when they erupted, and found herself facing them - her spiritual friends spiralled vertically around them, illuminating them for her even as she leaned back upon strong, solid haunches and stroked them with strange, foreign gentility and dextrosity. They entranced her, puzzled her - and then she continued on the dance, darting between them with the flick of her tiara and the great swinging of her tail - her whip crackled with bright and noisy sparks against one that tried to grasp her, to hold her and quieten her actions - none of that, she thought with a grin, nothing will stop this dance tonight.
@Abraham
on deviantart