The last time someone disturbed Abraham's sleep, he had felled the beast. Today would be no different. The leviathan was roused from his nap by the prodding of his draconian queens, images of the white dun that had yelled at him at the god battle flashing behind his veiled eyes. Black lashes fluttered and the beast shook his head some before lifting it groggily, the warm lassitude of the Dragon's Throat afternoon dimming as he woke. Turning to look upon the fiery figure devouring the sky, Abraham took a step out of his shady napping spot. Inwardly he groaned, but outwardly he turned to iron and ice. The monster stretched his body as Zenobia made her landing, and upon the sands his companion's shadows circled. They were gliding above the woman and their master, reptilian eyes watching to see how Abraham would react. Both dragon's hearts fluttered with the thrill of oncoming battle, and their blood pumped quickly as the ire in the woman's voice made Abraham laugh.

Ice and iron gave way to groundbreaking hilarity, and oh, how he did laugh.

He laughed darkly, loudly, nearly ceaselessly. It was a robust sound, breaking the fire from Zenobia's words upon his ears. His laugh was unmistakable in its bellow. You are a fool, it mocked the Sultan's daughter and her act of idiotic heroism.

He was not sure how long he stood there laughing in her face, a mountain before her, a vixen so delicately hazy, built from mist as if he could blow her away; but, god it felt good. Finally, Abraham quieted and looked the mare over. She was just as he remembered her, tiny and fragile and inferior in his presence, but now her eyes burned like hissing, dying embers. The beast snorted, tail flicking away imp-like flies. Abraham was monstrously large before her, his bulk and muscle-mass clearly his most outward strength against her. His impressive neck arched, and his eyes narrowed and darkened. "A real warrior is not afraid to face what will be their end." Simply, he meant that his dragons would accompany him in battle. They were him. He was them. Both draconian women gave their cries of war above him, their dual tones music to the behemoth's ears.

Abraham's muscles bunched beneath his swarthy pelt, his solid hips read to propel him forward. The iron and ice returned to his face, pulling all interpretation emotion from any onlooker. Mismatched eyes had surveyed the woman quickly enough to know how her body was different than his--her wings were the first thing he noticed. He was no fool to how agile and quick one could be in the air, for he had two companions gifted with the ability of flight, and he had resided in the Dragon's Throat long enough to see many a spar. One of the main objectives would be to keep her grounded, and keep her close. The curvature of her thin legs and ample hips told Abraham that she would be quicker than he, but her speed would matter not if he could keep her in range. His strength would devour her. She already looked fatigue, sweating the way she was.

Did she not know he was a harbinger of death, a sentinel of destruction? Abraham the fucking leviathan he had named himself when he brought his father's imposter (later learned to be his uncle) down in flames. Today, Abraham the fucking leviathan he would be.

"Let's dance."