There is nothing sweeter than finally being able to soar in your own dominion, it's the sweetest arbor, how it slides down the throat warm and it's fire heats the belly in a way nothing else quite can. He'd trade it for nothing, and the prospect of flight as a Dragon? Well that's a whole new pleasure of it's own. His feathered banners carry him now with new found swiftness, his maiden flight long behind him as he now focused on perfecting his aerial prowess. They are larger than expected for a colt of his age, not that he minds, he raises them proudly and their ashen appearance is magnificent in the sunlight. He will beat his tired muscles into quiet submission, they will be silent in their aches and pains in time, as they learn to carry him to the horizon and beyond by his command.

He's no longer some small infant left to the care of Strangers and their beloved foals. It still pulls a soured curl of his lip, and strained his brow with disdain, he had been just a side piece on another happily ever after. He had Sia now, occasionally Tiva and he had his father. There had been ample teachings and meetings with Volterra, though the colt had never openly questioned his Apa, far too busy drinking in his lessons and his words. His uncanny appearance whenever the winged son had been on the mainland, he had assumed his father had actively been following him. Making sure his young son was becoming a capable young man in his own right.

He is the first born of his mother's name, something which he can bask in, however little light is there now, her alter is ash rain and wilted grasses, but not the first of his father's. He has more siblings than just Astarot. Sikeax has birthed a colt as well, with death's own eyes in his sockets and horns which twist like a devil's in a midnight glade. It's caused conflicted feelings, given that they all appear to have notions of power and prowess. They all want to be the heir to Volterra's future Kingdom. It had brought Tyrath much amusement, to him it's no bother than he is not the eldest, heir is a title — not a birth right.

Still, they are all family no? Tyrath would not abandon family, he'd strive to know them all, their personality, their strengths, their weaknesses. If one falls behind then they all fall behind, they are only as strong as their weakest link. A snort escaped his ashy muzzle as he finally made his descent, the font of the heart caves within his sights. He had heard from the other throatlings that the Heart Caves were filled with all sorts of hidden delights, and possible terrors. What better way to spend the day? As he neared the ground, like a great vulture descending on it's carrion prize, molten pits of blood landed on the lingering body outside the mouth.

A body the shade of slate, with pink hued eyes and blood markings splattered on his coat. While the boy intrigued him, the thing which intrigued him all the more was the skull marking upon his head. Crowning him as it did his own, though it lacked the impressive horns now beginning to coil from his own head to greatness. It didn't take a particularly intelligent creature to assume who his father was, and his own chest tightened with a strange mixture of feelings. On one hand, his family has possibly grown to incorporate another Prince into it's fold, another brother to fill the void that is his mothers side and it's lack of members. However, this skullface is another potential threat to his own lofty gains within his father's dominion, and his own.


"Are you going to stare at the mouth all day? Or are you going to go in?" His voice called as cloven hooves touched the dirt, wings flared high above his head before they tucked against his sides. His tone is light and airy, with a hint of a devils smirk upon his dark lips. His strides take him a couple steps short of the older colt before he stilled, tail slithering like a serpent to loosely coil around his feet. "I mean, it is a marvelous view of a cave mouth, I can see why you're just stood here gawking." Tyrath decidedly leaves out the building questions, swallows them like the sea does unlucky ships. He'll find out in his own time if he is indeed a son of Volterra, and silently judge whether he's anything like Astarot, Zhu and Himself.


talk talk talk

Tyrath

If Chaos Drives
Let Suffering Hold The Reins