It is not before long the protectress of sleeping princesses has company - a delicate white dragon, stalking her as if the filly was but a meek mouse. Israfel plays the fool, watching the princess intently whilst occasionally peeking at her little pale predator, a wry smile on pink lips. The little dragon does not notice the princess, however, and utters a cry of surprise when they inevitably collide. She giggles lightly, like a breath of fire from a dragon's mouth. The white began to explore the mare's felled body, blending into her slumbering form seamlessly. Israfel wonders if they are two halves of a whole, but quickly discounts it, for she vaguely recalls the selfsame dragon making rounds in the sky, like Leonardo's kite, at her birth. Her bonded is a silver stallion, she recalls vaguely, with bright golden eyes.

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake and buck beneath little cloven hooves; a lumbering dark figure breaks the peace, causing her heart to jump frantically in her chest. The girl stands, swaying mildly before him, watching him approach with narrowed red eyes. He slides to a stop, haunches sliding beneath his gigantic body and forehand heaving upward, threatening to squish poor Israfel like a bug.
Staggering backwards into the arms of the tall spring grass, and indignant to such insolence, she begins summons the magic endowed to her; the markings sprawling across her wings begin to shift and glow with fire, tracing the girl's slender jawline with ominous orange light. Wreaths of flame begin to spiral upward from the base of her small single antler, licking the air with vehemence; she wills it toward the black draft, hoping it will hurt him. Burn, she wants to shout, but two other shadows charge before her. They do not try to injure her, and she obeys them when one brother ushers her frantically away from the Dauntless' path.

She stands breathless, quivering with fear and anger. Mother is going to hear about this - and the stupid idiotic beast will pay. Vermilion eyes glance toward the sleeping princess, who no longer sleeps, her body bathed in pristine spring light. The demigoddess bounds toward her, tears glistening within the big orange panes of her eyes. "He tried to hurt me!" she cries to the mare, pausing when she can feel benevolent Ophelia's warmth. The filly cranes her head upward to look the mare in the eyes, noticing (with a start) that the princess' did not match.
Israfel, still distraught and unsteady on her spindly legs, seeks protection in the elegant princess. "I tried saving you, but he tried to hurt me," Israfel repeats, sent a flutter at the mare's question. "No," she responds, almost wistful, between tears. How nice it would be to claim a dragon as her own, maybe she will ask mother for one.

With a flick of her dainty head, Israfel turns her delicate head to observe the brothers and the ugly beast who had attacked her. In the frenzy for her life, she had failed to notice how familiar the two dark stallions were - she realizes that they had attended her birth, as well. Both are tall and handsome, with opposing white blazes and strange maroon socks which seem (to her) like fire. Secretly, the demigoddess approves; anyone blessed by her father's fingers must be warriors for a higher cause.
The girl glances to the shire; he is marked by white socks, but other than that, his skin is the night. Bitterly, vindictively, she hopes her flames have kissed him - she hopes he felt pain when they became enamored by him. He will surely want another passionate moment, and she will let them return the favor gladly.