Gwyneverre shifted as the egg was moved, and a disgruntled growl ebbed at the back of her throat. She did not snarl out, however, knowing the infant inside the egg would be well equipped to catch such a thing. She remembered being in her own egg, waiting a thousand years at the bottom of the sea for the right bondmate. Abraham was the right bondmate and he deserved this gold just as much as he had deserved her. Spreading her wings and flapping down gently, Gwyn glided away from the egg just as another pillar of fire separated the group. Abraham jumped to the side, suddenly, coming side-to-side with the mare with the cloak that gently cradled the egg. Turning his mismatched eyes to the egg with infant dragon inside, Abraham spoke quietly. "It is just between us now..."

As his words fizzled into the frozen tundra around them, the egg began to glow and shimmer. Brilliant golds and capturing hues of orange caught Abraham's attention. His eyes widened in wonder and his jaw threatened to hang open at the hinge. The wind tickled his hair, and he suddenly felt the warmth of the flames that stood between these victors and the others that had started the journey with them. The white dragon's pupils widened, nearly engulfing the fiery tinge of her iris, and her body shook. Her entirety vibrated, scales and spikes making a near-silent, low rattling sound. A purr, alluring and musty, from her belly grew and poured from her ajar maw.

Her fiery eyes glistened and she jumped from Abraham's forehead. The white spread her wings and glided towards the green, a light singsong-growl playing from her throat....

This dragon was different than the jade green reptile she had met before--the scent was more alluring and she could not help but trill fondly into the florescent of the cave....her pupils dilated fully as she raced towards the scent...this was unlike when they had met Suli or Cynder. Gwyn needed to be near this dragon, to touch it, to take in its scent...with outstretched, growing wings, Gwyneverre made her descent towards the silver. His scales, even in the darkness of the cave, glittered royally and Gwyn cooed softly. It was like a purr, deep and rumbling from the very depths of her chest....

The draconian bitch lowered from her flight to circle around Tinek, her eyes bright and her voice singing out in gentle song towards the royal...Tinek spied the white dragon, smiling with scaled lips and tucking his wings to his body for a showing roll. He snapped out of the spiral by bursting his silver wings open and gliding carefully to a halt, chirping in response to her pretty song.

The pair's memories flooded their minds in tandem, and Gwyneverre lifted herself into a sweeping glide once more. She moved slowly, letting the wings carry her in low, wide circles around the egg. Dance, Abraham, dance... the white enticed, tail swaying back and forth behind her gliding form. The young stallion's brows pulled together, and he shifted his weight. One of his hooves left the solid earth for a moment, and he looked to the desert princess. How the hell was he supposed to dance? It was not something his parents had taught him. All he knew was battle...war...strategy...the bending of your body. Gwyneverre interrupted his sputtering thoughts with a gently prod, and the boy knew what to do.

"It’s time you’ve learned how to properly use your bodies, how to wield the horn upon your brows so you might live in this place." The Shadowmere, Circe, danced in the young stallion's mind's eye. Her blue-grey body was elegant and muscled well, her long legs and lion's tail curling in delicate but powerful ways that inspired Abraham. The boy choked some, lowering his head to open his back and round out his body. A deep, shaky sigh left his lips. "When a warrior moves, it is with effortless grace. A warrior rooted to the ground is quickly defeated; a soldier who is always flowing with the tide of battle remains alive and victorious. You will grow up to be large, like your father, I’m guessing. You have seen the power with which he moves—yet he dances in battle, ever adapting with his enemy, anticipating the attack without exerting so much of his precious energy." Abraham closed his eyes, and Gwyneverre continued to glide around him and the egg, her body vibrating and humming and purring.

The young stallion took a step forward, then to the left. Even with his eyes closed he was mindful of the fire the spewed around him, closing him in. His field was small, and he used the heat as his guide. He moved to the left again, a pace, neck and barrel curving slightly. His feathered hooves moved over each other with practiced ease, mimicking the very first movements of battle his mother had taught him. He could still see her, in his mind, as she danced the deadly dance before him and his wombmate. Another step forward and the monochrome beast changed direction, sidestepping to the right. He seemed to be floating above the earth, his body moving with all the grace of his heavensent mother, but still with the unbridled power of his Dauntless father. Another shaky breath left the growing boy's lips, and he pictured his parents together.

Suddenly, Abraham was an explosion of movement. His heels kicked high and his back arched. His feathers and mane danced wildly in the chilled air, his amulets bouncing against his robust neck. Gwyneverre trilled loudly and proudly, tucking in her wings and rolling in the air. She surged upward, wings unfurling as she tilted her head skyward and let loose the plume of smoke from her jaws that gave way to a single, small burst of flame from her belly. The white then free fell, turning her body only to land on Abraham's back without her claws slicing into his skin.

Shaky, rumbling, rapid images danced through their bond. Of Circe, of Reginald, of Abraham, of blood and death and mire. Tears, white hot and uncontrolled by the young stallion, poured down his face. Gwyneverre trembled, gliding from Abraham's withers to land before the egg. Abraham calmed his body, his muscles well controlled by his mind. Turning back from where he came, Abraham repeated his dance.

From his back a great weight lifted, and the boy opened his eyes. His vision was blurred with his tears, but he knew what transpired.

He let go of his mother's death. His heart was ready for love once more.