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05-21-2016, 08:47 AM
If there had ever been a time a young colt would fear for his life, staring down the maw of death would be an apt time. Defiant screams to run, flee or scuttle beneath his father's pillars, like great church collumns which sang sanctuary have all but died, reduced to sniveling whimpers in the back of his mind as the boy stands his ground. Cloven hooves dig into the dirt ever so slightly as his wings rattle their feathers, he buries the weak thoughts deep inside himself, and burns them with fire. Crimson eyes match the hungry glint of amber yellows, each drop of saliva which oozes from it's canines and dribbles over it's lips only amplify the creatures desperation to snatch his young life from him before he had chance to spread his wings and fly. It would snatch greatness from the earth for the sake of lining it's own stomach. He is aware there is another which stops his father from coming, snapping and growling to tell him to keep away. This one staring at him is responsible for the kill, the other is merely a distraction. Tyrath's ears flick slightly towards Volterra, a slight indication that the boy is listening, and absorbing his lesson. He must not look away from the jaws of death, if he looks to his father to speak, he would expose his delicate neck. He must not show his tender sides lest he be dragged away before anyone, equine or dragon could stop them from inflicting serious damage. The wolf continues to stare, as if waiting for a cue from it's partner, it's a game of who strikes first. Equine or beast. The pain subsides for a moment, though his blood continues to boil and sing beneath his skin. It's almost deafening, as clumps of fur continue to fizzle and burn away as they come loose from his dusty sides. The shimmering golden scales glow with an iridescent light, scales of a Prince who would be King. In a moment, the stand off is broken, chaos erupts as Volterra strikes and the beast retaliates. It is a brief, but bloody battle doomed from the star, the Goliath is victorious and it is in that moment the leaner wolf decides to strike. The sickening crunch of it's partners skull cleaved in two is enough to spur it into action. It's mate has perished, but it can still clamp it's jaws around the colt's throat and land a fatal blow, if it is quick enough, it would slink away and come back when the life essence has left the colt cold and dead upon the ground. Hopefully the father and his beasts would leave the boy where he perished and let the vultures make use of him. The wolf lunges and Tyrath let's loose a shrill whinny as his forelimbs kick up in surprise. The heat is back, the orb within his chest swells and bursts, screaming bloody murder as it warps around him furiously. Gaping jaw is sent reeling back as his small frame is doused in ash and flame, the pain wracks his frame as the flame cleanses it of fur and blesses him with scales. Armor fit for a Prince, baptizing him in fire to give birth to conquest and power made flesh and bone. Hooves twist and become claws and his tail becomes a rending scythe to cleave flesh from bone. Rows of bony outgrowths pepper his draconian head as crowns burst forth to wreath him with a savage crown. The flame subsides in a wave of ash swept away by his leathery wings and in it's wake a dragon snarls. While he is not yet a mighty shadow upon the sky, he is still formidable. His teeth are daggers, and his crowns are spears. His tail swept across the floor as a warning enough he will kill this wolf, and it may have the pleasure to try and chew through his armor plating. Thrown by the wave of fire, and the sight of a dragon where it's prey used to sit, the wolf hesitates. To turn away would mean an empty stomach, and it's mate's life wasted. It's foolish desire to clamp it's jaws into flesh and feast outweigh the danger and it lurches forward once again, only to have the small dragon raise to meet it mid stride. Golden body snaked forward with surprising speed, and it can only stare in horror and gurgle a growl as scaled snout opens to reveal a maw filled with rows of jagged, serrated teeth which sealed it's demise. The hunter becomes the hunted, and with a blow from a clawed hand, the beast is swiped to the side as it attempts to flee and followed by teeth closing around it's neck. Tyrath crushed the Wolf's wind pipe in one particularly gruesome crunch, his tail thrashed against the air and across the ground as it wriggled in it's death throws and died with a pained rasp. There is a long moment where the young Dragon keeps it's teeth trapped around it's quarry, not quite sure that it was really dead, but as the sickly tang of blood filled his mouth he spat it free. With the wolf dead at his feet, Tyrath raised himself onto his haunches with wings of gold and ivory membranes stretched towards the heavens and returned his attention to his father. Crimson pools meeting the Goliath's own and then to the Dragon's hovering nearby. What does father think? What do his Dragon's think? Tyrath briefly wondered, it wasn't like he knew he could do this, or had been blessed with such a precious gift. But now it's revealed itself, he's not entirely sure if he knows how to turn himself back and honestly, he's not sure he wants to. This form is power, and power is something all animals, young and old covet and know of. He can feel it within his core, through each twitch of claw and wing and the way his scaled tail coiled on the floor. "talk talk talk" from the ashes of the sun I arise
a herald of ruin and damnation |
@Volterra
![[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)
