The black behemoth has kept the knife Parelia made for him close at hand; he has practiced with it regularly. He is now an expert at using his lips and tongue to twist it around in his mouth, and has chopped down many a tree branch in his quest to master his new tool. When he isn't using the knife, he has his dragon tie it into his mane, but he hopes to fashion a sheathe for it in time so it is more easily accessed. Today the knife is hidden away in the rampant fronds of jet black mane that flow in great cascades down his thick neck, as he wanders the Thistle Meadow in search of fresh grazing.

The leviathan is almost a man grown; his second birthday is just around the corner. He now largely resembles the man he will become, his limbs thick and feathered, his quarters wide and knotted with dense muscle, his neck arched with the power that only testosterone can create. He is all hard lines and sharp masculinity, and his stride is the one of a beast fully comfortable in his own body.

His crimson war-dragon is off hunting, so the young stallion is alone. He prowls around at a steady walk, ripping up chunks of grass to replenish the weight lost during the long winter months. The sound of a thud and crumpling plants draws his attention, and he lifts his colossal head just in time to see the familiar form of Areli tumble into the weeds after an unsuccessful flight. An amused snort flees from the giant's flared nostrils. He remembers how envious he had been of pegasi when he was younger - now, he can't say he would enjoy flight, when he is quite happy having four solid legs firmly on the soil. Still, he approaches her. Her dam had bid him to protect her from threats, and do her own wings count as threats? Either way, he remembers her to be a pretty little thing, and he's curious if she has grown into a delightful young woman for him to fix his hormonal red eyes on.

As he approaches, he sees an egg glimmering in the thorns, and his eyes widen momentarily before his attention is dragged elsewhere. He is not the first one to approach, and he runs his gaze over a colt of a similar age to him, who shares the same traits as Areli - her brother, perhaps? He flicks one ear idly back and brings his colossal form to a halt, flashing the filly a rogueish grin. Indeed, she has got prettier, and the colt's somewhat lecherous gaze roams for a second longer than necessary. "Do your impromptu flying lessons count as you being 'in trouble'?" he questions in his baritone drawl, lifting one rugged eyebrow in amusement as he reminds her of her mother's request. He looks down to the egg - it doesn't look draconic, so he isn't interested in trying to snatch it for himself. He wonders what is inside it. "You're going to want to keep that egg warm and safe," he suggests, remembering wistfully the time he had spent guarding his own bonded's egg.