Once the night often brought trouble to the winged boy, sleep escaped him with each howl of the wind to serenade the coyotes sweetly, coaxing them into a sonata of harrowing and somber beauty. Each time he bedded down, and felt nothing but the chilled absence of a body beside his own. No child should feel that, no matter how much they pushed it away, insisted that they were fine and they weren't sad and bitter because of it. Now? He can rest and feel something which he thinks is care and love, something the skull boy had sorely missed, the sturdy pillars which balanced the scales of life. The young boy is destined to be a King, winged death from above to those that defy him, but even the most fearsome of Princes and Conquerors have felt the brand of a mothers love. Tyrath basks in it for now, whether he openly shows it or continues to wear a stoic, indifferent expression while his heart filled with warmth.

He can watch the Moonlit Kingdom out of want and wonder, to know that can fly against the tapestry of the night and claim it as his banner. He can listen to the Coyotes and find a smirk creeping onto his death marked features, the grand chains which wrap around his crown glinting their dangerous allure in the Dark Lady's pale glow. Crimson eyes can close and he can spread his wings and fly in his dreams safely, to explore the lands of his future and change them freely to his whims.

Zhu is a welcome brother, a future King in the Shadows. A worthy blood brother to stand beside in the fields of blood and war. To know there is one like him that has sprouted forth from Volterra fills him with delight, it gives him the opportunity to learn and train beside someone who will rend flesh and break bones as he will. Between them, they make powerful heirs, unyielding to anything less than what they deserve. Serpentine tail flicks with each change of scenery within his dream scape, deeply cloven hooves occasionally twitching as he moves.  The familiar rasp of Hungarian stirs his mind, but it's the deathly cold touch of a horn against his side which brings him to the waking world. He rises, nodding in agreement so that Goblin or Sia don't wake, the extra voice, however light, might be enough to draw them from their own dreams.

Tonight is for them, to do with what they wish. Not to be worried over or have Goblin's eerie gaze upon them at every turn. His first steps are filled with weight, sleep still rolling off of him in great waves until his ears flick forwards and he matches his brothers pace, long legs taking the great strides with ease and pride. Their apa has taught him well, already his body is filling out with experience and muscle, a silent promise that when he's grown he'll be a force to be reckoned with.
 
"Yes?" The grumbled back, pupilless eyes rolling to fixate on the larger boy, a silent go on. Would you like to race to the water? Ah, now that is a challenge he can't refuse, can he? Already his muscles flex, and his hooves dig into the sand ready to push. However childish it might seem to be, they can indulge in the night. It's their domain. I'll give you a headstart, he exhaled a snort and his thick neck raises his head a little higher at that. "Are you sure? all that muscle weighs you down. I think it's you who needs the headstart." He doesn't give him much chance, already he strides forward, front legs thrust out to throw himself into a gallop. Tyrath could spread his wings and take flight, he muses over it as he runs, take to the air and soar against the inky black and silver speckles — but where's the fun in that? It wouldn't technically be cheating, as it's not magic, but it would rob him of victory won rightly. "lépést tart." He calls over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face.