Archibald was not new at this position. His mind was a cavern of experience and knowledge, of tactics that reached far beyond the realm of this dragon-land. He saw through the eyes of the birds, moved with the sway of the trees. He was Captain, the guardian, the protector. He knew each stone, knew each misstep that the herd members took, knew each intruder as they entered. Today, however, it was not an intruder that fueled his gallop, but the enticing scent of his eldest son.

Loretta bound at his side, their heads down as they bolted through the trees. The pair were a hurricane, shaking the earth in their wake with the massivity and power. Small animals scattered, seeking shelter and protection from steel clad hooves and claw ridden paws. The Dauntless puffed as he drew closer to his son, and, finally, as his steel grey appearance lightening in the distance, Archibald skidded into a smooth trot, ears pressed forward and head up. "Reginald." Archibald breathed out, his voice a booming calm of the storm. The Captain stopped, his balance square, as he looked at his son with molten gold eyes, swimming with different, unreadable emotions.

The colt before him was no longer the foal he had protected in the meadow. He was strong, muscle pulling across his thick, hardy bone structure. Thick, black feathers covered his hooves, reminiscent of the Dauntless. His lion's tail was thickly muscled, covered in the thick hair that matched his mane and feathers. His dappled grey coat rippled over his shoulders and thighs, muscles well toned by travel that would grow even harder and larger with proper training. His horn, solid and arched, stood as a proud crown on the prince's forehead, curling away from his inky forelock. Eyes of grey, such a reminder of the mother that birthed Archibald and the sins of his past, stared at him hard.

Archibald felt the wall of anger that followed behind Reginald, the familiar look of unstoppable determination of his mission etched in the silver eyes that mocked him. "My son." Archibald nodded to him, wanting to reach out and place a kiss on his boy's bulging neck. He knew the look in his son's eyes would not welcome it, and so the Dauntless stood statuesque, preparing for the lashing that his ironborn would surely give him. Where was Abraham and his dragon? Was Circe close to follow? Archibald would ask, but first he would give his son the stage he deserved, and the father would answer the questions that he could feel seething beneath Reginald's anger.

Loretta, unashamed of the desire to show affection towards the yearling before her, took the first step to close the distance. Her tail wagged slowly and curled over her back. Her amber eyes were bright, showing her true happiness. Archibald was the heart of her heart, her entire world, and the offspring that he had produced with the gypsy queen were the malamute's offspring as well. And she was a proud, protective, and doting mother. A small whine escaped the cage of her jaws and she extended her muzzle to place kisses over Reginald's shoulder. I love him. Tell him, Archibald. Tell him. She pleaded, though without breaking her contact with the prince until he walked past his father. Loretta's ears lowered and she clenched her jaw. He is a boy, Loretta. Let him be.

"Your mother is a traveler. You do not know her heart as I do. She cannot be bound without consequence. I have searched for her in our meadow, each time without bounty. She knows my scent and the scent of this herd--she is intelligent. She will find me." The Dauntless owed his son no explanation, that was true--but it was free for the ironborn prince. Archibald's voice was hard, the eye of the storm washed over. He was relieved to see his boy, but the cutting of the child's words left bile in the back of the father's throat. Turning to follow his boy's movements as the colt turned to stare at him sharply, Archibald pinned his ears some and gnashed at the air between them--a warning, a warning he knew his son was intelligent enough to follow. The question lay in whether Reginald's pride would let him heed the warning.

"Where is your brother?" The Dauntless followed with his own question, lacing his words with the responsibility Reginald held as the eldest. The Dauntless himself was the oldest to a twin, one that he had protected and taught and loved--but he had not seen since his induction into the Grey, years ago now. Would Reginald let Abraham fall away as a memory, as Archibald had been forced to do with Vincent? Did Reginald care that his sibling was not at his side?

@[Reginald] -- WOW OKAY FORGIVE ME

Loretta waits for Archibald to tell the boy of her love, but the Captain does not. The indifference stung, and the bitch took her leave. I will hunt. She whispered, carefully and silently turning to the west to leave them. She bound away, her large, muscled frame oddly quiet in the forest. But, this was her home now, and she came to learn how to navigate it's intricacies. Aside from that, she had stalked into this land as silent as the fog that raised around her ankles, and had spilled blood, and slayed a dragon.

Archibald is silent and statuesque as he watches his son. There is some sort of childish tantrum that seeps from his grey pores, and Archibald merely waits for it to escape completely. His son was never the type to explode in his anger, no, that was Abraham's position. Reginald was calculating, cold, patient in his seething rage. The Dauntless knew this well, having guarded over his son when he was nothing but helpless and feeble, just a small mass of fur and bone and horn. The warlord blinked his golden eyes, tail flicking ever so slightly against his thick hocks, the ticking of a clock above them, moving time along as Reginald continued to stalk into the herdland. Finally, the ironborn prince regarded his question, and Archibald felt the tension of anger rise from his son's breast. "Dragons are powerful, but they do not replace blood."

Stepping forward, the behemoth closed the distance between him and his son with ease. He looked down into the eyes of grey solemnly and tilted his head some. He beckoned for his offspring to follow him, to walk with him, and to learn from him. Virgin-white feathers danced in the wind as Archibald began to walk towards the cliff sides, away from the density of the forest. "Duty is something I was born with, something that was fueled in my like a fire. It is time you hear my story, son, and meet your grandmother." The scarred beast continued to talk until he finally stopped, just outside of the cluster of trees, listening to the sound of the foamy waves as they crashed against intensely sharp rocks.

"I was born in a land far away from here, a land that is no longer inhabitable. The name was Isilme, and much like Helovia, there were several herds that inhabited its entirety. I belonged to the Mystic Woodlands for as long as I can remember, and this place reminds me of the ancient trees that I grew with oh, so much. The Woodlands was a place of turmoil, mostly, and my mother trained me hard. I have a twin brother, much like you and Abraham, and his name is Vincent. I have other brothers, too, nine of them; all lost to this world. That does not matter."

"Mandrake, my mother, trained me to be a warrior. Out of the ten of her sons, I was her greatest success. My skills in battle and my wisdom of tactics far surpassed those of my siblings. I grew in the ranks of the Woodlands until I was training warriors under the eyes of Roanne the Sentinel, the military lead of the herd. Soon, dangerous shadows attacked the lands, and I fought hard and long until I knew my family had fled to safety. I followed them, finding Helovia. On entrance, I was approached by every herd leader but one, as well as an outcast band leader, each of them nearly begging for my battle prowess. I followed a mare into the Windtossed Foothills, finding myself a warrior there. I soon gained purchase and raised in ranks--from warrior, to General, to Chief."

"I was challenged in my position for Chief, and lost to dragon fire." Archibald motioned to his scars briefly, before continuing his tale. "I found the Grey, a mercenary band, and joined their ranks as the General once more. We invaded the Foothills and I took my rightful place once more. I met your mother, and we came together. Our first child was a beautiful blue filly, but she was taken unjustly. Her name was Callisto, and she never saw the light of day. Her death was the first snow of the season, and I knew the gods were crying for our loss. I scouted the north for some time before returning to your mother, and leading my troops in to invade this herdland you stand on now. I lost a warrior that day, and Loretta killed a dragon with her teeth. I returned to the Foothills and denounced my rank, and I left. I found your mother again, and we created you and your brother. At your birth, Lakota, our dearly beloved friend, kept your mother alive. You were her greatest feat. For most of your life I stayed an outcast, keeping my skills sharp and teaching you boys, and loving your mother. Finally, after not seeing Circe for weeks, I decided I needed to fall back on my nature, on what I was in truth. I came here, and I stand as Captain."

Archibald looked to his son, his eyes hard and emotionless, as he looked at the eyes of his mother in his seed. "We all are born with something, Reginald, and mine is duty. I am to serve, lead, and protect. The earth needs me."