He’s not sure what the other stallion means by, ‘Two-leggeds,’ but the way his little ears perk up in interest makes the elder wonder if they aren’t another mythical beast of some sort, apparently very mysterious in nature, since they go by simple descriptors instead of any proper name. He just shakes his head in response, confusion showing in his expression. He’s uncertain how to explain further without going into details he doesn’t want to share, so it’s a relief when the subject of dragon culture seems to override the equine’s curiosity.

For such a young individual the white-faced stallion certainly knows a thing or two about Helovia and its ‘strange happenings.’ Albrecht remembers his own strange experience with the bedraggled fire-flamingo in the Heart Caves. The surly little fucker had seen fit to give Ki’irha, of all possible choices, an orb of sun magic. He’d thought it was an isolated event of insurmountable idiocy, but if magic and companions are granted on a regular basis and so arbitrarily… Excitement blooms in his narrow, bearded chest and he makes a mental note to explore anything out of the ordinary from now on, metaphorical doors of possibility swinging open in his mind.

Then comes an upsetting little tidbit, one that slams the doors and windows shut on all his future endeavors. “Only horses can bond to dragons?” He repeats, an edge of accusation in the question as if the other stallion has any part in deciding who a dragon does or doesn’t want to bond with.

Refusing to believe that he's somehow - physically? mentally? supernaturally? - disqualified from having a dragon of his own, he glances into the red and gold reptilian faces in front of him, searching for some confirmation one way or the other, then catches the younger stallion staring at his horns as if he hasn’t been aware of their existence his entire life and needs someone else to point them out for him to be aware of his own heritage. Annoyance surges, not truly directed at the youth but certainly pertaining to him. The elder's ears sweep back to an obstinate angle, his hairpin temper rising.

"Hmph." He snorts, deciding that maybe the white-faced herpetologist doesn't know as much as he appears to. He had said these things are largely dependent on blind luck and now that he thinks about it, why would an animal that flies and breathes fire populate in a dense, very flammable forest? Maybe the youth has just been talking out of his ass this entire time. His tufted tail flicks, suddenly dismissive. "Well, I guess I'll just have to look and see then."