A screech powerful and loud rings first across the field, the small dragon who had happily been gazing at the younger silver moments before leaping up, flying through the small flames and toward the larger black reptile. The jaws which snapped were seen as an immediate threat, and one which was met with a billow of nuclear fire. It fell short of its target, however, as the little black noted almost instantly how the teeth of the massive snake closed short of the sorrowful figure by him. Comadre does not stop moving, though, but propels past the basilisk and lands upon the shoulder of his bonded. Unfurling his wings, the dragon puffs out his small chest, letting out a menacing hiss as he looks out at the fellow scaled being protectively.

Sorrowful golden eyes peer up from the snow, all of the commotion dragging him out of the strange, pitiful stupor he had found himself in. A cloud of white smoke draws his attention even as a the forked tongue of a serpent sings out an apology. Two toned eyes rain through the vapor and the wolf blinks, seeing her rush to his aid as if this were some sort of twisted dream. "Ophelia," he says harshly, his voice still a bit hoarse. "My blood is better suited to paint the snow than yours." A smile, cooked and decorated with serrated teeth, peeks out from gruff lips. Her face contorted in worry, the lines of her delicate features painted in a shade he was unfamiliar with. Her gaze averts from his own, looking toward the large reptile that the wolf seemed either to be unaware or indifferent toward. Her words make him drift a heavy lidded gaze toward the black snake.

Cautiously, paws reverse in the snow, increasing the gap. Comadre chrips in surprise at the sudden movement. Didn't you see it? he asks, looking up from Osiris's shoulder toward the massive hybrids dazed features. "I didn't know it was so close," the wolf says, looking at the dragon to avoid confusing any to whom he was speaking. From the snow appears another figure, with black features outlining him in a flurry of snow. Golden eyes narrow in his approach, the stallion carrying himself in an oddly smug manner that set the hybrid's teeth on edge - as if he needed any more excuses to be in a bad mood today. Canine ears slick back into a mess of mane, quite displeased with the way he approached the group with judging blue eyes.

Cloaked in fur and feral expressions, the wolf listens intently to the words of the boy, finding himself becoming more annoyed with each passing second. Annoyance was like a lifeline out of the slump of depression the hybrid was to find himself in if not for the distraction. The sudden liveliness was not entirely welcomed, but it was better than brooding on things kept in the past. "I doubt Ophelia is of the heart to injure a friend," the wolf says with a sneer. "Even if they are dressed in such a garb as mine."

Speaking of mercenary work as though every new appearance was a target. What an idiot.