How fitting this place had been, and Abraham had not known it when he wandered here.

The stallion had no original intentions for the acts he would commit here today, but he still took and held a great amount of pride and pleasure that they did. He was ravenous, his body radiating the heat he felt swell inside of his dark breast, down his stomach and through his loins. This was not the first time he had taken what he wanted with full force, and it would not be the last. The leviathan's mind was swimming with his carnal, his primal, his selfish desires and he paid no mind to the woman that mumbled useleslly beneath him. Their previous conversation was lost in the void of his mind, cloaked by the sensations that rocketed and bounces from receptor to receptor. He cared not for her safety, for her mind, for her pleasure. Nothing regarding her was important right now. He and what he got was all that mattered. His mind did not even wonder to fear of a foal--for his seed was not as precious to him as others--and the idea did not scare him. It amused him, if anything. Torture this woman for some time with the offspring of satan incarnate. Abraham snorted, finally, moving away from the woman.

It was then that the world came flooding back to him--the scents of this loamy, moist place, the minds and sounds of his dragons circling high above, and the scent, a sudden explosion of realization on his tongue, of his brother. Whipping his massive head 'round, Abraham let his oddly hued eyes fall to the tough, monochrome hide of his brother. The desert has served him well. Gwyneverre mused, diving softly with her twin sister to land heavily on their master's back. The stallion gave no show or sound of their heavy landings, for he was used to the power of their bodies and the slicing of their claws against his toxic skin. "Brother," Abraham breathed, tail flicking against his strong hocks.

Had his brother heard them? Had his brothers companions saw Abraham's body from their skyview, causing the basilisk to seek him out? A gruff, bemused smirk lit Abraham's dark features, and Brienne gave an equal hiss toward her master. Stop it. She grumbled, annoyed that the act had happened. The gold upon his broad croup was jealous that Abraham had let another woman take his affections for only a moment. How dare she. Brienne was a queen, and deserved the only affection Abraham could muster. But, Gwyneverre sighed. Moving her muzzle toward her larger, younger sister, she nibbled at her chin. It was a reassuring gesture to the queen, relaying to her that what Abraham had given the filly he could never give to her--no matter if her small, young mind wanted all of his attention.

"Do you seek her?" Abraham finally asked, lifting a dark brow in Reginald's direction before reaching forward to close the distance between them and brush his nose against his brother's dappled shoulder.