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05-16-2016, 05:44 PM
It is the colt's turn to preen, his name is fine indeed. A solid foundation to what the young boy will grow into, his skull face and ashen pelt already speak volumes as to what he is destined to become. A name that will be spoken in hushed whispers and roaring baritones when his banners carry him forward upon the winds and cast a long shadow upon those beneath him. He spared a nod at the mention of his mother having good taste, his ma is precious in ways he does not quite understand, but she is powerful and commands respect with her presence alone, why would her tastes be anything less than good? "Volterra." He repeated, head tilted a fraction to the side as he committed it to memory. Tyrath does remember clearly that it is the Red who approached him first, while the Queen remained in her aerial domain, he doesn't dismiss him on purpose. They are both symbols of power, they both resonate with him in confusing and delightful ways he does not understand. What he does understand despite his newness to the world is his desire to have a Dragon of his own, that much is already anchored within his impressionable soul. His mother's griffin is a fine beast, a creature of valor and light, and to be paired with one surely is a great feat of strength. A griffin flying beside him? it would look painfully out of place. Crimson pits widen with childish surprise and elation that they both belong to Volterra. Can a horse really have two? His mother doesn't have two griffins, or a dragon at her side. Despite their empty looking state, his eyes glitter with admiration that the goliath has both to heed his call. A colt knows when it's in the presence of superiority, and the brute as ample amounts that radiate from his war hardened frame. Volterra spoke again and his ears press forward intently, maybe this Volterra will tell him more about his Dragon's, tell him how he may have one or perhaps even two! It is not the story he was expecting. I am your father. The words flash in multitudes of overwhelming colours and emphasis in his young mind. His pa, the great stallion in front of him is his pa. Any words that were on the small boy's tongue are immediately cut short by the guttural, bloodthirsty growls which break through the undergrowth to his left, causing whatever words to fall as a jumbled noise of surprise. Wolves. They had followed the boy from his travels from the throat, from the moment his small hooves had touched upon the tall grasses they had watched with hungry eyes. Lips peeled back to reveal sharpened teeth and fangs as they skulked out of their hiding place, edging closer inch by inch to both the young colt and the dragon-stallion. Spittle and froth pools from their dark muzzle, while their dark fur is matted and patchy. Their usual prey had left with the extended frostfall and had not returned when the first shoots of birdsong had sprouted. They are desperate, driven by hunger and need. If one of the pair could just separate the colt from the stallion, or if they are lucky they can fell the great beast as well! what a feast they would have! The leaner of the two, quicker and more sly dips to try and press the foal backward with it's advance, while the much heavier one circles to snaps it's dripping muzzle towards the hooves of the stallion and to the dragon's accompanying him. Leave now it seems to snarl to the trio. It tries to place itself between the father and the son, give it's mate a chance to try and grab the boy and drag him into the under growth. Tyrath's eyes dart from one to the other, though the colt isn't so quick to back away and flee like parts of his body are screaming for him to do. The white heat is back, more ferocious and persistent. His long tail lashed at his small flanks as he stared at the one trying to advance on him. His father is here, that sings louder than any flight factor every could. He cannot run, he doesn't want to run. The heat is prickling within his skin to the point it hurts, it hisses and sings until his tiny frame trembled with licks of pain. Smoke emanates from his ashen hide as patches of fur began to melt away in small jabs of white heat to reveal the first hints of scales. Tyrath wanted to look to his father, but his body commands him to keep an eye on the one skulking him in case it chooses that as it's moment to strike. "talk talk talk" from the ashes of the sun I arise
a herald of ruin and damnation |
@Volterra
woo here we go!
![[Image: tyrath_by_bronzehalo_d9yw5wg_by_arahvir-d9yx9ov.png]](http://orig07.deviantart.net/1336/f/2016/104/9/c/tyrath_by_bronzehalo_d9yw5wg_by_arahvir-d9yx9ov.png)
