The night was quickly approaching, and the boy and his dragon were settling down for the night. In their true fashion, they stayed close to the beaches since their discovery of them, just as they had with the heavenly fields. The beach was a new and exciting territory, and the bronze pair would not leave until they had explored and memorized every inch of it. They were outcasts, and thi was their home. They needed to understand the way the world went, how the bluffs curled over each other, and how the water drizzled over the grass during a storm. It was no different than if they were charged with the task of patrolling a herd land, except that they were free to be leisurely and thorough. Settled beneath a beach tree, Argen pressed his shoulder into the bark. Solomon curled on his croup, rumbling silently and deep from his chest. The dragon always rumbled as he attempted to sleep. It was as if the dragon was humming to himself a lullaby, and Argen took comfort in it as well.

On the cusp of the night, however, their sleep was disturbed. High above them, the bluffs carried a call. The call was demanding and harsh, a dangerous cry of battle and revenge. Solomon perked his head up first, his lightning yellow eyes snapping around. Argen’s ears twitched and he lifted his head groggily, annoyance spilling from his chest to wrap over his body. Who dare disturb their slumber and call for battle? Grumbling, the spotted boy shifted his weight and moved towards the call. He shook the sleep from his eyes and entered into an easy trot over the rolling hills. “Solomon, scout from the air and stay hidden. You are the secret weapon,” Argen whispered to the dragon. With scales that still shimmered brilliantly in the low night of dusk, the draconian prince took to the sky. His wings stretched and carried him high into the clouds, out of sight and out of mind. If whoever called them did not know of the dragon, Solomon could surprise them with hellfire and regret for calling such a meeting as this.

Solid hooves carried him easily over the sands mixed with beach grasses until the land solidified under his weight and the grasses became thicker. Calculating, amber eyes flicked around him in the distance until, finally, standing on a cliff, stood his assumed opponent. Argen’s body puffed up—his neck arched and his muscles tightened, ears lowered against his skull and his hind end tucked beneath him. The young stallion’s teeth gnashed the air and he gave his own grunt before a snort. His trot was short and dance-like, moving slowly and surely to inspect this winged stallion before he dove into the throws of battle with him. The pegasus was larger and bulkier, with obvious draft heritage. Argen held draft heritage, too, but it was not as apparent in him as it was in the light buckskin. Argen assumed the stallion would be stronger than him with his attacks, and the spotted would have to lean more on his agility and speed. It would be a new revelation, for the last time he danced with a pegasus he had to use his brute force as a hurricane of treachery.

Another snort left his muzzle and Argen rocketed his body forward, an extended canter pulling his legs forward to hopefully close the distance between him and the pegasus. The hardened ground beneath his hooves tinged with the impact of his stolen shoes, and he did not slip in his charge. The roaned stallion lowered his head and shot out his neck when he thought he was in the perfect spot, aiming to snap his teeth closed on the unknown stallion’s right side wing joint. If he had learned anything from his fight with Ghost, it was to keep pegasi grounded, or else the battle was futile. Do not let him fly away, Argen called over the bond with his dragon, high above and unseen in the dark clouds. Front hooves rolled forward, high and arching, attempting to scrape down the large stallion’s front right leg and damage the knee or cannon.




[WC: 700 | PC: 1/3 | YAY!]