Stony gaze shifts down as Confutatis elevates a hindleg dangerously, his ears flickering momentarily backwards. How could he have forgotten how irritable mares could be after birth? She is perhaps right to wonder over his lack of sympathy, but she should take it as a compliment that the black behemoth does not ask about her wellbeing. He values her strength; she is not some feeble filly quaking at the pain this process undoubtedly causes. No, she is a vampire queen, daughter of bones - she needs no hollow words of concern, because he takes it as a given that she is fine, that she will simply get on with it. She has felled empires, fought demons, and surely this pales into insignificance compared to that? Also, he is an insensitive little shit and cares little for the pain caused - what is agony compared to the pleasure he gave her in the conception, and the glory these children will bring her?

She announces that the girl will receive the egg, and he resists the spasm of disappointment. He is sexist, after all, and values sons to a greater extent than daughters, but he supposes he cannot begrudge the little grullo girl her prize. It is she that receives the full force of his silver gaze now, as he looks her up and down; yes, strong. A worthy suitor of the black egg. So it is the boy that will receive the amulet, and he summons Cynder to his back to untangle the gem from its position in his mane. She carries it forwards, thin membrane-wings batting at the air as she moves towards the colt - trusting that she will be allowed to approach him, if not her bonded - and as she does, Confutatis' magic fills it, making it glow an eerie green before settling back into its usual blue tones. Tyradon's head dips sharply, pleased. His son shall have something, at least. The little black boy looks suitably petrified at the sight of a lime-green, flame-tailed, many-toothed predator flying at him, but a stern glare from his sire makes the colt think twice about trying to flee or giving into his fear. The jade war-dragon perches gently on the moist and still-bloodied young withers, fastening the amulet securely into his tufty mane with dextrous fingers before soaring back down to the black egg.

Through their bond, the obsidian monolith can feel her sorrow at losing the egg she holds so dear, but she does not complain as she rolls it gently towards the filly. Cynder looks up to the young girl and releases a small chirp - take good care of it, she begs with her eyes and her posture. With one final look at it, she returns to her favoured perch between the stallion's ears, her tail twitching unhappily. You have hatchlings, I have none. He releases a small snort; his war-dragon does not need offspring, surely! Maternal instincts are below duty-orientated creatures like her.

Colossal head jerks in response to Confutatis' words; yes, their twins have an advantage already. To think, them both bonding to two dragons! The image of a bronze flashes from Cynder's eyes to Tyradon's mind, and he absently gives a lazy smile of delight - he agrees, at least one of his children should bond to a royal. But the nudging of Cynder's mind against his makes him realise that this is no vision conjured up from her subconscious; it is real. His head snaps to the side, whole massive frame shifting to stand between this strange stallion and his newborns, lips peeling and Cynder drawing herself up with a savage hiss - but as the dun draws closer, the warlord realises that he is familiar. He remembers the slickness of his body brought into the earth from the womb of a daughter - borne of the loins of an unknown stallion with a bronze dragon, if he remembers correctly. Yes, he had been quite willing to let any stud bonded to a royal have his way with his daughters, as, after all, Tyradon himself would not service a related mare and it seemed a shame to let his daughters remain eternal maidens. He would often give them to his warriors within the herd but after a few years the majority of his subjects were blood-related, so the occasional outcrossing to rogue equines was always an option - provided the vagabond was strong, of course. Pleasure burns through him at the fact his grandson has grown from gangly colt to mighty young stallion, and bonded to a bronze, no less!

"Argen," he greets, posture relaxing. At the sight of another dragon, Cynder practically has hearts in her eyes, and abandons her bonded in favour of soaring towards the bronze with gusto. She is older than he, but he is royal, and is given due respect as her flame-tail waves like a happy dog, aiming to touch her snout to Solomon's. Tyradon rolls his eyes. Cynder has razed herds to the ground, slain hundreds with talon and flame, yet she is a complete slut for the attention of other dragons, especially royals. After all, he reasons, she is still a child in mind, if not body, and there is a certain immaturity about the way she is prone to forsaking duty to spend time with other dragons. Tyradon himself looks at the bronze with considerable pride, though, so he supposes he will excuse Cynder on this occasion. "He is quite magnificent, what is his name?" Perhaps he will be able to persuade Argen to leave Helovia with him - there are several fillies in his herd who would go weak-kneed at the sight of his grandson and his royal.

Realising Confutatis may not be best pleased at the proximity of the other male, Tyradon is quick to make introductions. "Confutatis, this is my grandson, Argen. Argen, Confutatis...and our children." The younger stallion enquires as to the twins' names, and Tyradon's gaze shifts to the colt. He contemplates naming him after his father, yet there is nothing special enough about this boy to warrant the use of such a name. Instead he decides to go for something similar, to keep up the theme of terra, of the earth from which the great Nieque himself was created. "The boy will be Volterra, after my father Terrador the Earthmover. And the girl..." He looks quizzically at Confutatis, so generously giving her the option to name their daughter.