The blood-scaled dragon seems good natured enough, but as he snakes beneath the elders lifted leg and out of his limited line of sight, restrained as he is and unable to bend himself around to watch, he can’t help but instinctively tense, the scent of the unfamiliar and obviously predatory creature pressing in on his fraying senses. He flinches at the first experimental tug of claw to knotted hair, but the beast’s movements are surprisingly gentle and his reactions lessen in response, anxiety quieting with each moment his bowels remain intact.

The red seems to pause now and then as if assessing a particularly complicated snarl, drawing the stallion’s ears back in question, but by steady increments the pinching and prickling are removed until the stallion’s head lowers in relief and he sighs a heavy breath he hadn’t noticed himself holding. The dragon streaks away then, back to his bonded like a proud child exclaiming his accomplishment and the white-faced stallion noses him warmly in answer while the gold looks on as petulant and unapproving as before.

Albrecht watches, curious, while gently unfolding and stretching his leg. The cramped and overexerted muscles screech with every inch, but finally he touches hoof to ground and hobbles forward unsteadily. His right haunch protests the movement, nearly buckling beneath him and demanding he find a manner of walking that doesn’t involve its use, but the tingling of returning circulation promises full recovery in time so he rests the leg on its toe to wait, a relieved smile smoothing the creases of pain and worry from his mouth and eyes.

"May you be the first to strip my brittle bones of flesh.” He tells the red-scaled, lowering his muzzle agreeably, though not so close as to demand an answer or gesture in return. He doesn’t know that much about dragons and much of what he thought he knew has just been proven incorrect. Not callous, ferocious, jealous hoarders of trinkets and virgins – at least not all of them, he qualifies - glancing quickly to the gold and back, but intelligent and fully emotive as any other species. He had expected them to be a bit larger though.

"Are they full grown?" He asks the white-faced, hornless stallion, assuming their speech is limited to a single bondmate like other companions. They look fully matured to him, with filled out forms and wings both large and muscled enough to carry them aloft, as demonstrated by the reds dramatic entrance, but he's smart enough to know that he doesn't really know and waits for a more informed opinion on the matter.


OOC // @Volterra