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Dance the warrior, the warrior
EINARR
"What you doing, yalli?"
Einarr's front, cloven hooves hit the ground and he straightened his weight, tucking his massive flight appendages to his sides. His eyebrows knit together, showing his confusion. The child was young, obviously still nourished by his mother's milk, and Einarr closed the distance between him and the child with ease. He stood before the boy, his massive frame blotting out the light and casting his shadow over the entirety of the youngling, covering him in darkness. Einarr stared down at him, tail flicking gently against his hocks to ward off spring flies. The beast knew that foals were defenseless, and it was a high risk to be away from one's herd, or better yet, one's parents. Flexing his wings to stretch out to his sides, an attempt to cover the foal completely in shade, inspected the foal better.
The warrior lowered his head and sniffed at the creature. He did not smell of the Dragon's Throat, and that rang even more confusion in his mind. He was a rusty color, the color of sand, as well as black, the color of coal. He was marked carefully, and the antlers that were but buds on his head made him think of the one Einarr guessed he had belonged to. "What, son of Gaucho, doing far from desert?" Einarr asked, sniffing the child again before snorting some. If he needed to, he would deliver this child home by force. It was for his protection, after all. His duty as a warrior was to protect those who could not protect themselves--and even those that could--and this definitely rang the truest when it came to foals. They were cherished, for they were the future.
[yalli = child]
if you bury me, i'll bury you
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