fear the vulture and it will come. fear nothing and you are the vulture.

The vulture’s wings soared, sweat forming a patchwork of deep mahogany amid his this russet coat—but the dry air he soared in evaporated away any dripping moisture. He flew towards the Edge, returning from the Isles, his mind full of dark skin with bluish undertones; of electric eyes and sparking energy—so the abrupt appearance of the white dragon caught the soaring giant quite off guard.

His great span flapped quickly as he stalled to avoid hitting the scaled creature, heavy body quickly dropping a few feet before his flared feathers regained his aerial equilibruim. “Vervloek dit, draak,” was his grunted curse as the great musculature of his chest labored to keep him aloft. As said before, his great body was meant for soaring, not flapping or any feats of aerial dexterity.

But the small, white reptile was determined, her glinting claws and sharp gaze an obstinate indication to Gaal that he best follow her. Briefly, his gaze turned towards the west, seeing the glint of the sea above white cliffs he now thought of as home—strange; when had he began to yearn for the Edge?

Then again, A’mal meant Najya. And Nayja meant… well the last time, Nayja had meant a happy ending for all involved parties. And the vulture was never one to deny a beautiful woman.

So down he spiraled, slowly ascending towards the Thistle Meadow, red-hot eyes eagerly lighting upon the russet curves and ivory locks of the woman whose body he had intimately known. A raptor’s gaze roved over every white-specked birdcatcher spot upon her thin, satin skin (particularly those on her flank)—

“To catch all the butterflies!”

But his sharp gaze was not left long to lustfully linger on the healer’s curves, for a sweetly youthful voice shattered into the vulture’s reality. His starkly white, large skull swung towards the frolicking foals as his feathered hooves landed heavily in the Birdsong’s lush greenery. His hot gaze was wide, non-plussed, confused. The black skin around his eyes made the starkness of his white-rimmed eyes that much more prominent.

One was a gentle auburn, sun-bleached along her back and graced with stripes of cream along her withers and limbs. Butterflies flocked around her, and a sweet smell wafted towards his flared, shocked nostrils. This was the one that had shouted into his world. The other damned his reality even more—by her wings. Her coat was a similar orange-red to his own, her foal-fuzz mane and bottle-brush tail as dark as his own, and her wings… their baby feathers were a similar mottled assortment—his own instinctively flexed into his flank, as if blocking out that truth that shouted from the twin girls’ genetics.

His agape, bearded mouth motioned to make noise, but then snapped shut as he remained astonished and mute. He blinked a few times, bewildered eyes seeking something—anyhting— from Nayja’s honeyed hazel. Anything to suppress the rising panic that threatened his throat, mind, and chest.

“Wha—what is the meaning of this?” he finally croaked out in his gruff voice.

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Vervloek dit, draak = Damnit, dragon

graasvoel