A thick, black tail swung behind the massive beast and tickled his hocks, his ears finally ceasing their incessant twitching. They did that when he thought, a beacon to his ever-churning mind. Most had a tendency to peg Archibald for nothing more than a slab of muscle, his brawn outweighing his brain, but those who made the assumption were sorely mistaken. Archibald wondered if Evangeline found him more than just a warlord, found him intelligent and deserving of respect. He was a leader by nature, able to rally those around him with ease and bring them to greatness. He held high expectations of those in his keep, only stimulated by his vast mind. Mandrake had not been an idiot in raising her greatest son, just misguided.

When the Pure asked of Ophelia's unicorn blood, Archibald gave a simple nod. He need not delve into her full heritage, explain her hybrid blood that bonded her to a dragon whilst being crowned with a silk-white horn, for it was not his story to tell. It was Phi's, and he would not take it away from her. In the depths of his chest, he missed the crimson and alabaster mare. While she did not hold the same level of bond that Ktulu had within Archibald's soul, Ophelia was still a part of him. They had been family once, and he had protected her for years. They respected each other and saw strength in each other, something Archibald wished to still have in his life. He wondered what the mare was up to now, was she with her children, the demi-gods she had birthed and adopted? Whatever it was, she was most likely living successfully. The Dauntless would not see her living with anything less.

"Empathy is not needed. She deserved to die. Her heart was black." How would Evangeline take this? Surely, from knowing the jaguar mare she agreed, but would she peg Archibald with having the same heart? His life was filled with war and battle, something the Pure had fought against with peace and diplomacy in her time as lead. A simple blink gave way to the lifting of his head, a sparkle of pride brightening his stoic gaze. "They are twins, born of strength. Reginald, the oldest, is a strong grey lad. Abraham, the younger, is a black and white boy with a dragon bonded." Archibald looked out to the sea once more, recalling his sons. As deep as his desire for them to be at his side, learning his ways, discovering what he already knew under his iron hoof, he knew his sons needed to explore the world and make their own decisions. He would never parent like Mandrake, never bend the wills of his children to match his own. Never.

How?