There was a terrible, terrible mistake in angering a queen.

Abraham's ears flicked down into his thick mane as Nymeria's weird shifted. Her threat was tiny, but it was still a threat and it would not be taken lightly. Reginald's laughter cracks the building tension, and Abraham's lips draw together. His pride is not touched--no, this woman has no claim to his dominance and her fit has no will to touch it. However, her one sign of disobedience flares some bitter thought in his mind. Her cocked heel does not come alone, however, as suddenly within Abraham's head liquid and blood shift darkly. A warm, fuzzy sensation fills his face and his ears pound. He is overcome with the lightheadedness the magic causes, but not without his own assault on the woman. Anger flares and his teeth gnash, and from the ground burst nearly a dozen thorny vines, serpents seeking to trap the woman's legs and hold her hostage.

With the master's rage, the dragons change on a dime. Black fingers are entwined with gold, but the queen stops her ascent. Suddenly the white swoops towards the black--slightly smaller than her, a male--and her jaws open wide. The golden screams her sudden fury, frost crackling in the corners of her jaws. Green and fiery eyes narrow together and the gold fastens her grip on the black. She is massive, stronger and faster and better than the black. Ice spews from her jaws and white fire comes from behind. Brienne shifts her path, wings beating hard to fly straight towards the beach. She will punish him for his master's actions--he will die because of her. The gold intends to drown him in the sea.

Sparks ignite behind Abraham's eyes, his weight bracing as his head returns to normal. He can feel a small trickle of blood forming to run down his right nostril, the sign of a broken blood vessel. Snorting wildly, the Leviathan does not hear his brother's comment--and it is not needed. His thorns are already seeking to grab her, to hold her, and his hooves are already flying toward her. He is quick, as his mother has taught him, in his attempt to scrape solid hooves down the front of her right kneecap. His attack is just a smack, a strong hand to remind this woman of her place beneath him. Even in his anger, his dragons' growing rage blooming in his head and heart, he cannot help but wish to ravage her.

Heat swarms his belly and his mismatched eyes flick to the dragons momentarily, watching the twin soldiers attempt to move the black toward the ocean. "They can rip your soul in two." He mentions darkly, snorting again. Blood spews from his nostril as he does so, hopefully painting her white mark crimson. His desire grows and he steps closer to her, willings his vines to tighten.