It was perhaps the rustle of dying leaves against his massive frame that gave him away before he stepped into the clear. Towering over both Mirage and Tharos, Vikram turned his cat-slitted golden eyes on the grulla-and-white frame of the stranger there.
Titanic wings, more than large enough to lift his mass from the ground, spread to shadow the ground in lazy stretches. Either was more than hefty enough to knock a grown horse unconscious with a firm blow. His gaze was warm when it flickered to the petite black mare who held his heart, but grew cool and appraising again as he flipped his leathery wings closed again.
"You have said yourself your sire was a poor leader. A poor strategist as well, for not better knowing the herd against whom he pitted himself." It was with quiet irony that his deep voice rumbled into the air. "I couldn't help but notice the flaws in the logic of your story, youngster. It is quite natural to want to blame all that is ill in your life on a parent that doesn't measure up, but that does not mean all is entirely his fault, whatever his real faults may be."