The Throat was a mess, all tattered and broken by grief, fueled and fired with anger, a wicked concoction of pain. He listens from the sidelines, his faith pulling him to the chosen leader, but is heart agreeing with the pains of the herd. He did not disrespect her for titling Volterra, the stallion he had passed by a few times before, he seemed powerful enough to train worthy soldiers, but Miseal understood the fear of assuming that man was who he says he is. His eyes switch between the anger and the harsh words that are leaked out by one member then another, a true mess. The Dragon's throat had once been sheltered and warmed by the fire, they had watched it burn as it burned for the last time, fading further and further into only ashen memories, and now without the fire, the throat chocked. So here he was, watching as they choked, desperately wanting to do something, but knowing that this sort of hurt, it was a different strand of agony.

He had things to speak of, but shouting and emotional chatter poured into his ears, did no one here understand civilization? He shallowed the anger the begun to rise, for then that would put him no better than his fellows who had too cracked. Sikeax was the leader, she wasn't chosen to cause the fall of the throat, the Sun God believed in her, and that made Miseal too. Perhaps she was new in her rule, but quirks and mistakes are expected in any new job. He had thought the Dragon's Throat was better then this.

Miseal looked for the woman's eyes, hoping that if she caught his, she would find reassurance and encouragement within his fiery gold orbs. Turning his attention to the shouts, he looked helplessly back and forth, glancing at Lazarus as if the lion could help him. Later, he would send the lion to tell the spies of his meeting, which this time, would not be tolerated if no one showed. The Throat was vulnerable, he could feel the peace of Helovia conjure something nasty underneath him, this herd had to be strong, very strong for whatever that was to trial them.

Keeping his stature strong, the chromed observes, should someone wish for otherwise, he was all arms. But the hurt egos, the broken hearts, it turned the meeting grounds into a mess of mines and bombs, just waiting for the next to go off. He knew that throwing instruction would only be pushed aside, he would meet with his spies but for now, Miseal bit down on the urge to jump into the havoc that had already begun.

OCC: There's so much going on mis can't find a place to speak, spies-expect a meeting, there will be jobs and targets handed out as well as general information. Miseal will also be looking for someone to fill the informant rank beneath him, so do keep that in mind.