Two dragons perched in a tree, watching the stallion below. The behemoth stood like a statue, the finest marble cut from the earth. His muscles bulged beneath his inky pelt, tugging his frame with power and grace. His face as cold, but a rage boiled deep within his oddly colored eyes. The hues of the earth and the water, the mixture of his parentage, glared out into the open space void of the life he sought. The delicate, deer-woman that he desire to devour beneath his hulking frame. The to-be thief was nowhere to be seen, but he knew she was close. Her scent was everywhere, choking him with her floral accents. The leviathan wanted to growl, to display his displeasure in archaic, demonic sounds that would find perfect pitch with his warring demeanor. The mare would know his wrath.

"Show yourself, woman!" He finally roared, stirring his dragons to life. The blackened stallion took no step forward, no step back, but merely stayed as a pillar of power and dominance in the brilliant light of the meadow. His tail did not flick back and forth as it would normally do so in his indignance. His fire was too hot, too large, to be displayed as anything other than the stench of anger and toxins that wafted from his masculine body. Above his head, gold and white circled. Majestic scales danced with the bright sunlight, reflecting their status as fucking queens--and fucking queens of destruction they were. Gwyneverre, the white, had already proved her prowess in bringing the hammer of Abraham's heart, and now today was Brienne's testing day. The golden serpent was old enough now that ice pooled from her jaws and rendered her prey lifeless, yet frozen in time. She was the yin to the yang Gwyneverre was. 

Mismatched eyes scanned the horizon, waiting for the roaned woman he had met when they were mere children. Surely she would come--otherwise be written a coward.

Gwyneverre hissed above Abraham, still circling above him with her sister. Like two raptors waiting for death they rose and fell with warm currents of air beneath their wings. Look, the white snarled over their bond, sending an image of the delicate roan with her dragon eyes. Abraham scoffed and turned, facing the thief as she strode towards him. Her pretentious greeting rolled off his hulking frame like water from a duck's back, and he took his own step towards her. Mismatched eyes narrowed dangerously, and the titan's thick neck arched some. He watched the way she moved, the curvature of her body alluring and taunting. In a mixture of macabre and smut in his mind, the leviathan wished to bend and break her for her crimes. 

"You who call yourself the reaper's daughter stand before me but a failure." From the sky, his two dragonesses dropped. Gwyneverre took her proper spot on his poll, balancing carefully and lifting herself with his horns. Brienne, the largest of the dragons, perched herself on Abraham's withers and peered around his thick neck to look upon the wench. Death, the dragons growled together, gold and white tails lashing behind them in their rage. Similar feelings bubbled within Abraham's chest, and the heat rose in his muscles. "So tell me, woman, what you intended to take." Abraham had many items--amulets galore, some filled with magic from the Moon and another of an unknown origin and a feather that currently tied on Brienne's tail--and each of them on their own was desirable. So what did this little bitch want from him?

The behemoth's voice is dark and rumbling, the sky mimicking above them. In the distance, thunder rolled and lightning cracked. A storm was approaching, a storm intended to flood these lands with Birdsong rain and new life. As the interrogation continued, the clouds darkened and moved faster overhead. The spring day was turning into something sinister, something foul, and the leviathan reveled in the presence of the coming storm's power. He had seen the way lightning could strike mountains and take a chunk of the eternal structure, with little hindrancence to the strike itself. We are lightning. Brienne mused, jaws parting some to release a low, warning snarl.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Rain pattered against slick black hair and hardened scales. Mismatched eyes watched how the girl's tail twitched and he could not help but compare her to a mountain lion he saw hunting in the Frozen Arch some time ago. It's tail twitched and lashed back and forth when it's prey was elusive and got away from her grasp. A small smirk lit his otherwise grimacing features, and he took another step towards the blue filly.

"The feather is not meant for you." The statement was simple but firm, for it was true. The flower producing feather was not meant for her, nor was it meant for him. His intention was, and always had been, to save it for another filly. His sister, Macaria, so young and so innocent, was the only one truly worthy of the feather's beauty. Anyone who would want to steal it from another was too corrupt to keep it close forever. This was the reason Abraham himself could not keep it--though he held no desire to, either--nor could this failed thief before him. His smirk faded away, and his slick tail slapped heavily against his hocks.

The golden dragon lifted from his back and glided low to the ground and to the left. The white followed, but opposite the golden. As the golden moved, she let the feather brush the ground and create a ring of flowers around Abraham and the roan (he still did not know her name, dammit). Even in the rain the brilliant colors of the blooming flowers showed deliberate beauty created by the Earth God himself. Each flower was blessed with the breath of the Earth God. As Gwyneverre circled around the pair, she hissed darkly.

"For your crime, I will mark you. Let it be a perpetual reminder of your failure." He decided, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. Surely the lithe, smaller girl was quicker on her cloven hooves than he, but Abraham was prepared for that. There would be little place for the woman to run. As the mountain that was the leviathan lurched forward, neck arched and chin tucked, his dragons let loose their own assault. Fire and ice burst from the left and right hinds of the girl, attempting to push her forward into the hellion's charge. The massive black stallion aimed his twin horns down, then he sharply lifted his head when he thought he was in range. His violent intent was to slice into the muscle of her left shoulder and leave his mark in a thick, puckered scar that would forever hinder the bitch's beauty with macabre and horror.

With their assault launched toward the woman, the dragonesses darted into the air. Reaching an altitude to watch their bonded defeat the queen of flowers, the dragons glided on the warm air they could find. The rain splattered against their hides, making their scales glimmer like jewels.

Abraham's horn ran along the roan's shoulder and a wave of pleasure shifted down his spine. While the cut was not as deep as he had intended or desired, the way the woman clammered away from him with widened eyes gave him the understanding that his message had been sent. The lithe woman darted into the open meadow and Abraham turned slowly, watching her frostbitten ass bounce among the thistles. The monochrome stallion snorted, tossing his head and lifting his body into a rear. Solid hooves struck the cool air, rain drenching his massive body. His hide clung tight to his rippling muscles, and with a crack of lightning behind him he was illuminated like a demon.

Landing back to his four hooves, the stallion snorted again. He stalked forward, dark ears pinned into his mane and teeth gnashing in the rain. "Do not run from me, coward." The words left his lips sharply, soaked in venom. As he approached her, she began to sing. A laugh bubbled in the leviathan's throat, but his mind dulled. For a moment, the stallion stopped. The rain pattered against his back, and his mismatched eyes seemed to glaze over. The woman's magic was gripping his mind, but two draconian queens were waging war against it.

SLAY HER, ABRAHAM! screamed the white.

DEVOUR! hissed the gold.

We are done here. The hybrid commanded, blinking his eyes. He looked on the woman, battered and bloody, and snorted. In the war between her sorcery and his companions, Abraham had lost all sense of why she had been attacked. His companions landed heavily on his broad back, and the leviathan turned to leave the presence of the blue filly.

"Should we meet again." Abraham called into the rain, no real statement on his tongue,  but an obscure promise could be interpreted should the woman wonder.