Its body was silhouetted in a thick edge of black, the translucent liquid dim and darkened with the silver of the clouds brooding in the background, a creature of storm. Lightning cracked, licked across the sky, refracted in the overlapping 'scales' and burning through the water figurine. Brows knitted sharply together, forming a hard and surly line in her stubborn efforts to keep the dragon 'alive' (so much that she forgot to breathe)—keep him breathing! And then, with a final and agonizing exertion of willpower, she forced the lines of the creature's chest to expand, and fall, in a parody of breathing. Sharp was her inhale, mirroring that of her dragon-beast, and then he fell away along with her concentration, dissolving into a cascade of raindrops punctuated by a rumble of thunder.

Lilómiel craawed, his warbling tenor rolling out in time with the growl of the skies. Irritation surged through their bond, thick and sinuous frustration, the staccato beat of his rage gnawing away at her temperance. Spindly ebon claws tighten, clutch firm against the scarred tissue of her withers, bringing beads of scarlet springing into vivid color against the darkness of her skin. Ow—she lets her pain bleed out across the bond, a soft reprimand he shakes off with a roll of his eyes and a rustle of his feathered wings. No, Nym cues again, thrusting the import of the message upon him, bending the wilderness of his foreign mind to her hand. For a moment, the nest-like warrens of his impassable thoughts squirms, tightens away from her impassive cruelty—and then it gives, reluctantly, swaying and curling into something small and beaten.

Despite the faint pang of pity she feels for the bastard, stronger yet is the satisfaction from subjugating him to her will.

The thunder of massive wings churning the dead air (calm before the storm, isn't that how it's described?) into a snappy wind snaps her from her paradisaical whims. Vermilion eyes rise, ruby retinas affixing onto a vibrant form colored cobalt and firebird orange. Eyelids ever-so-delicately widen, subtle surprise shaping exquisite features into a cleverly construed image of beauty with arachnid poise. The dark filly does not give much mind to the male's appearance, however; it is the face which bespeaks the soul, whether that be a heaviness to the eyelids, a bedraggled touch to the mane, or the weight and curve of the lips.

Another flash of lightning burns him with white light and the girl frantically leaps back from the edge of the sea-scalded rocks, mouth twisting askew and wild in shock, all grace wiped from her features in her astonishment. All she saw was lightning—and him, the colt, seemingly on fire.

Lilómiel crooned, the low vibration of his purr reverberating through her bones. Through the seed of their connection she could feel his vague satisfaction—something which translated (from what she could tell of his flashing images of burnt birds and the stench of charred flesh) to what idiot flies in a storm? And this time, her surprise is enough that she forgets to reprimand the arrogant black.

Except with a flurry of feathers and a crack of hooves on stone, the boy lands, wind-whipped and bright-eyed. Fine.

For a long and sticky moment Nymeria is struck by a steadfast silence, words paralyzed within her larynx, a surprise mirrored upon Lil's face. The dragon croaks something, a rumble of mingled confusion and disappointment (he likes his food crispy, and has yet to try burnt horseflesh), the low stretch of sound startling her into composure once again. Smooth, decided unworry paints across her face and the dark filly relaxes. She will not show fear to a stranger.

"Yes," the grullo says cordially, lashes knitting together in a coy and vaguely flirtatious vibe. "Did you get struck by lightning?"