fire made flesh; and fire is power

After the boys’ arrival, the gathering effectively swelled, pups flooding in from any and every direction. Drogon nestled into the grass a short distance away from the pedestal that Sorcha had placed herself upon, and his eyes remained fixed upon her expectantly even as other pups began to circle in. A single ear flicked at the sound of two pups approaching from relatively the same direction he and his brothers had, recognizing the paw steps of one as the other half to the sisterly duo that had accompanied them to the beaches of Glorall. More focused on his reflection than the fact that the gathering was growing, Rhaegal did not realize her presence until the yipping greeting to Sorcha was made. His head flashed up, turning so fast he nearly put a crick in his neck, eyes seeking that golden caped girl as she stood beside her sister. She was on Embla’s far side, so he only caught a glimpse of her, but his tail wagged through the grass.

While Rhaegal was so utterly focused on Bastille having joined the gathering, Viserion’s golden eyes roamed over each pup as they came forward. The mostly white boy, splashed across the face with gray, who so steadily kept his eyes upon Bastille and Embla. A brother perhaps, whose seriousness vibe had the potential to rival even Drogon’s. Two other girls approached then, the similarly pale tipped ears and green eyes giving them away as sisters. Not to mention how closely they walked together. Their path brought them from an altogether different direction than anyone else, leading Viserion to believe they were either from one of Spirane’s ally packs or they were from a litter of one of the new families that called the mountain home. Maybe they hadn’t settled in or adjusted to the mountain terrain yet. When the smaller girl introduced them Viserion knew his second speculation was the correct one, and his tail waved in complacency at his ability to deduce such things and also in greeting. These were two daughters of Everlyse, sister to Jericho, so they had to be nice!

All of Viserion’s mental deductions, and his greeting, fell by the wayside to Drogon. The soft, soothing tones of Semele’s introduction pulled his attention from expectantly waiting upon Sorcha to look upon the slight girl of creams and russets. His dark ears pricked towards her, garnet eyes narrowing at the question of whether or not it was okay that they had come. Of course it was. She was pack, was she not? And besides it would hardly matter if she wasn’t who could refuse her? But before words or responses could form inside his relatively quiet mind, Sorcha answered her question. That was when a dark girl came bounding across and greeted Semele and her sister as friends, though the bump of her head against the smaller girl’s chest elicited a quiet growl from Drogon. His nostrils flared, quickly recognizing that she smelled nothing like the mountains. She was a stranger, to him at least. A flashing glare from Rhaegal, who was now moving towards the growing group of girls, made him swallow the noise, knowing it was probably inappropriate if this was meant to be a happy gathering.

Refocusing his attention on his destination, Rhaegal lifted his head and jogged through the throng of young girls. He flashed a smile at the quiet Camilla and popped his brows at Ankh, but then he was nearly at Bastille’s side and his tail waved out behind him happily. Just as Sorcha tapped her paw against the rock to draw their attention, he slid in next to her and popped his nose against her the side of her muzzle as he had done that day as they’d galloped off to see the great unknown sea. He gave her a sideways smile and whispered, “Mind if I sit here?” despite the fact that he already was.

And then the story began, and all three of the brothers’ gazes lifted to Sorcha. As the story went on, Viserion was engrossed with the tale, trying to deduce what would happen next at each plot twist and turn. Rhaegal did his best to appear entirely absorbed as well, just as Bastille had when she’d first come to stand by her sister. He did find the story interesting, so it was not entirely faked. In fact he slowly became more and more drawn into the tale as it went, less and less concerned with making an effort to not look at Bastille, for he became distracted by Sorcha’s weaving words. Drogon, however, occasionally let his gaze slip to Semele, curious about her, but he still paid attention to the narrative. All great heroes must complete three tasks. The line resonated with each brother, perhaps differently in each of their minds, and less so in Viserion’s than Drogon’s and even less so than Rhaegal’s. But it was that line that ensured a steadfast attention to the tale that Sorcha told.

When she paused Viserion stared up at her expectantly, wanting only to know how the story continued on its way. Was the result of his efforts fruitful? But she then asked a question of the group of pups who sat before her. Of course the white fringed golden boy was the first to answer. “Well, he will clearly find the cougar. Perhaps he will try to reason with the cougar as he did with the witch, convince him to stop eating souls and killing wolves. I’m not sure what Osprey would have to offer this cougar though in exchange for a bit of his fur…” The idea puzzled Viserion, and he immediately began to contemplate the issue, his ears flicking back and forth to hear whatever other predictions were offered from the pups that surrounded him, though he doubted anyone would come up with a better idea than him.

drogon; rhaegal; viserion