The salty air tugged at Abraham's mane and tail, pulling the thick tendrils of hair in a teasing manner. He shifted his gaze briefly to the crashing waves, the cloudy skies making them wine dark. He frowns as he regards the sea, how powerful they are. He is the sea, something dark and deep and unknown. From his depths arise monsters. Gwyneverre is from the bottom of the sea, and she is a fearsome thing. Brienne, from the north, is also from water. They are monsters. He is the sea.

The Leviathan, he had decided, some seasons ago.

Mismatched eyes move again to greet grey. The twin titan descended on him, sand sputtering as his hooves forcefully shoveled their way through. His frown leaves his black lips, though it only returns to neutrality. Abraham is a master of his face, his mask. He wears his own bastardization of the Dauntless' stoicism. Nodding to Reginald, black lips reach out to bite his right cheek--a welcoming, greeting kiss. Like his father before him, Abraham is not fearful of initiating physical contact with those in whom his heart finds delight. Reginald is one of the blessed. Macaria is the other.

"The sea beckons me. My dragons and I hunted, they feasted." Abraham motioned back over his shoulder, where miles down the beach a ravaged, dead body of a unicorn lay. The behemoth had not even caught the stranger's name before commanding his dragons to devour, to fill their hungry bellies. He felt nothing. Turning back to Reginald, he regarded his brother. The scent of the desert equines still clung to his grey pelt, though it was faded some. Had Reginald been spending more time in the wilds? Did he leave the desert to take up his true mantle, at Abraham's side? Was Reginald ready and willing to cast aside his herd affiliations for the sanctity of freedom Abraham had chosen--had thrived off of? He did not question it, no, because their meeting was interrupted.

Twin dragons, white and gold, move toward the black. Gwyneverre's pupils narrow, but Brienne is the one who gives him the call. Her shrill, queenly scream is an acceptance of his submissive nature. The white circled him, and the golden reached out with talons to embrace the black. Should the smaller, weaker boy accept, she would grab his own feet and ascend into the clouds, with the white following. Dance with a queen, but remember your place, her motions insisted. Abraham snorted. He remembered her from the mirrored sands. Together they shared a dance, and she bent herself to him. He lifted his chin, ears flicking at Reginald's question. "She submits to me."