The Earth God's comments have been replaying in his mind, over and over again - he is torn. Torn between his hatred of the other species, and his desire to claim back the magic that was taken from him; how can he sit and play house with the scum he has spent eight years despising? He is a shallow man, closed-minded and judgemental, never stopping to consider the error in his flawed thinking when it comes to unicorns and pegasi. Yet, with all the plans the Regime have, he knows he needs his magic to be on a somewhat equal footing with the rest of Helovia. He cannot wander blindly and expect to win every battle here simply because he was a warmaster out in the wilderness; he is at a disadvantage here, and he will do anything to claim back some semblance of the power he is so used to.

Even if he must consort with rats.

The stallion's thick legs draw him without his permission to the beach; he hadn't even realised where he was going until he felt the familiar crunch of sand beneath his hooves. He looks down, a small smile playing at the corner of his muzzle as he thinks of his time in Isilme, and all the hours spent frolicking in the sea. It is far too cold for such things today - the winter sun is weak on his back and there is a distinct chill in the air - but he can at least enjoy himself tasting the salty sea breeze on his tongue and feeling it ripping through his mane. As he moves closer to the softly lapping water, he feels Cynder tense on his back, her claws rasping deeper into the thick flesh there; she hates water, knowing full well that submerging herself in it would be signing her death sentence due to the ever-burning flame atop her tail. As a result, the beast stops a good distance away from the ocean's edge, so as not to unduly trouble the green war-dragon.
""

Despite his dragon's steadily shaking form, she has enough of her wits about her to send him a mental image of an approaching pegasus, and he turns swiftly to look. It's a mare, her shoulders hideously deformed with the feathered wings of a bird, but her pelt is tinted in a handsome purple hue and if it wasn't for her plumage, she could even be called attractive. A heady mix of disgust and barely-restrained revulsion rise within his chest, but he keeps his expression steady, remembering what he has been tasked with. Sensing his internal struggle, Cynder's mental caress touches the furthest reaches of his brain and she speaks gently to him, as a mother dragoness would reassure her hatchling. "Dragons have wings too," she points out, and the hellion concedes she has a point. He has always hated pegasi slightly less than unicorns, yet their wings were constantly a source of stomach-churning hatred within him - they were not dragons. But, for his bonded to point such a thing out, it reminds him that the simple presence of wings does not make a creature hideous, despite what he has spent eight years thinking.

Yet to his blinkered eyes, anything different is wrong and must be disposed of. It will take more than his dragon's wise words to jerk him out of the shallow-minded belief system that is so deeply engrained into his flesh that it marks him like a scar.

With these thoughts churning in his mind, he barely notices that the mare is actually approaching him until she is close enough for him to see every feather on her queer protuberances. He snaps his slate gaze away from them and to her eyes, which look dull, lifeless. He is inexperienced with how to make small talk with vermin, but if he is to complete this damned quest then he's going to have to learn, and fast. Her somewhat downtrodden expression is a good starting point. "You look upset," he remarks, trying to ignore how stupid and cheesy that sounds in his mind. "Who have you lost?" He hopes it's an accurate guess, as he has only seen eyes like that in men and women who have lost loved ones - surely that has to be the same across all species.

Sometimes he wonders what it's like to fly. When he was a green boy - and oh, this memory burns him with shame to his very core - he sometimes envied the pegasi their wings, because he could think of nothing better than flying beside his dragon, exploring the highest reaches of the world together. Of course, once he'd matured he'd realised the error of his ways and never allowed such things to cross his mind again - horses were meant to be earthbound, not winged. It had been a childish fancy, one he ensured he never allowed himself to feel again. The things are unnatural, foul feathered protuberances from one's shoulders, and heaven knows what they did to the bones to make one light enough to fly.

He watches the stranger's reaction to his first words, partly wondering - and, yes, hoping - that she would lose her temper and attack him, because that would give him an excuse to use violence right back. It couldn't jeapordise his quest if it was in self-defence, after all. He was never mine, she says, and the beast quirks a brow. "Ah, a man," he rumbles back. It was always a man with mares, wasn't it? To add to his racism, the bastard was mildly - or not-so-mildly - sexist as well, just to ensure he was as blinkered and prejudiced as it was possible to be. Why could women not gather than stallions had little interest in anything but the heat between their thighs? They always wanted commitment, kind words and gentle caresses, which is why Tyradon has always been particularly careful to let his lovers know that he is not the sort to bring flowers or write soppy limericks. If more mares took his attitude to life then the world would be a far easier place, but he says none of this - instead he rearranges his face into what he hopes is a sympathetic, rather than pained, expression.

She says that she doubts he knew him, and Tyradon very much agrees, especially if he is winged like her. But he has to find some way to force this forbidden friendship, and perhaps helping her lament over her lost lover is the best way to do that. "Try me," he says, his voice as pleasant as he can possibly make it. Cynder visibly rolls her eyes and nestles closer into his mane, her amusement at his predicament evident.