He is utterly ignorant to the very serious mares and their initial displeasure at his excitement and energy. Perhaps if pinned ears and exposed teeth had lingered he would have tucked his tail, drooped his wings, and chewed fretfully on the air, but as it was his questions all shoved forward, everyone seemed to relax and enjoy the new life.
His ears perked even higher as the fish-mare uttered a very strange word indeed. Balenokorn his mind whispered, but his tongue was less sure, carefully asking "Baaelknucon?" His face scrunches up tight, aware he said it wrong, so he mouths it again under his breath, butchering it in some new way each time. As she says his name however he abandons his attempts and brightly nods. "Hi Aquila!" he officially greets. As the whale drifts towards him, brushing playfully up against his feathers and mane, Iskra giggles, "hi Craonos!" Then, as Wessex steps forth, a chipper, "hi Wessex!"
"I see gray whales by my home sometimes," Iskra mentions after a moment of gawking in awe at Wessex when she mentions someone else has a black and white whale friend. "They are much larger," Iskra nods knowingly, "but they move so effortlessly!" He would have expected something so big to be graceless, like the larger horses he's seen plodding along- though sometimes he's watched the large warrior move in impressive ways, the whales don't strike him as fighters (not the gray ones at least).
"Safe at home," Iskra replies to the whereabouts of his egg, snapping to attention and being careful with his words, guarded. "Buried in the sands to stay warm," he adds, not wanting to appear neglectful. "I hope it will be a whale too," he beams, "just like Craonos, if I'm lucky."
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more
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