He comes to hunt with her, and the queen bugles her delight. This, she has to admit, is more fun than fighting against him. This is a way for her to demonstrate her strength and superiority without needing to do so at the expense of somebody else, and it's a quite refreshing feeling inside the mind of the queen. The struggling vulture is a formidable opponent and Vadir feels her flame bubbling in the back of her throat; it is instinct to use it, but she refrains. That would be cheating. It is more enjoyable this way, drawing out the unavoidable conclusion of the raptor's death.

Dramyrth joins her, flipping and latching beneath the vulture. Sandwiched between the two great golds, the vulture shrieks and thrashes even more, yet there is a sense of inevitability about its movements. There is no way it can hope to escape, although it rages against the dying of the light with everything it has. The male's jaws snap against its neck at the same time that Vadir's do, and together they squeeze the life out of the avian until its body goes limp between them. The queen shrieks her pleasure, thrashing her scythed tail so that it accidentally chops a few of the dead bird's tail-feathers off. Then, unbidden, she releases the corpse and hopes that Dramyrth will do the same; if he does and the dead vulture is allowed to fall, then the queen will swoop with it, using the great bulk of her shoulder to try and shove it towards him. Her crimson eyes are sparkling now, her jaws twisted into a feral smile that is playful despite its menacing appearance; she's inviting him to engage in a game of dead-vulture-ball, to push the tumbling corpse between them both in an attempt to keep it off the ground for as long as possible.

Disrespecting the dead, perhaps, but nonetheless fun.

Volterra can hardly believe what he's seeing. Vadir is usually about as playful as a boulder, but here she is thrusting a corpse towards another dragon in a clear invitation to join her in something that isn't rooted in dominance, or superiority, or an attempt to prove her utter magnificence. It's almost childlike, and he can't help but wonder what's caused her change of heart. She ignores these musings; her mind is cut off from his to focus fully on her game, and he knows she's too stubborn to let him back in until she's good and ready. So he leaves her be and focuses his attention on Amaris instead, enjoying these precious moments with her that remind him so much of his childhood.

The beast takes her comment at face-value. It's true, after all. He is versed in dragons, being bonded to two including the most complex and regal of all, a golden queen (Vérzés sends a ">:[" face into his mind). He is versed in children too, with nine of his own, eight living. He takes no offense, instead swelling with pride. "You could say that." He beams, remembering a piece of news he'd wanted to tell her. "Two of my sons have recently bonded to dragons, you know. Astarot has found himself a blue, and Tyrath a red. Tyrath can also transform into a golden dragon - I cannot help but be rather jealous of that." He chuckles softly. His own transformation magic is fearsome and frightening, but it is not a dragon.

The red's ears perk at his name, and he gleefully nods his head at Amaris' request. Vérzés is nobody's slave, but he's very fond of Amaris (or, as he calls her, spirit-dragonmare) and happy to help her out. He swoops from Volterra's broad back, grabbing the jar between his dextrous fingers and flying towards the fire without a single hint of fear in his face. The flame tickles his crimson scales but he's only in the depths of it for a moment, not long enough for it to burn through and damage the skin beneath; he scoops the jar across the ash at the base of the inferno, then bursts free in a shower of sparks. Shaking bits of ash from his eyes, the dragon deposits the filled-up jar at Amaris' hooves, then returns to his bonded's withers to painstakingly groom his scales.