fire made flesh; and fire is power

Drogon was the first one out of the den when he and his siblings woke to the fierce blizzard. His dark form bounded from the den fearlessly, always drawn to the wildness of Mother Nature’s storms. Oversized black paws romped about in the snow, the wind whipping around him as he pelted back towards the den and barked at his siblings to join him. Rhaegal had been next to follow, always game for an adventure, and after that Viserion’s presence was assumed. Kalseru remained behind, preening herself and complaining that the wind would tousle her beautiful coat. She tried to warn them of the same, but…boys will be boys. Together the trio bounded away from the den, criss crossing each other’s paths in a dance that seemed almost choreographed. Of course such synchrony would be ruined when one brother intentionally crashed into another, playful rough housing sending them rolling through the snow before leaping up and continuing in their way. They dashed through the freshly fallen snow even as the winds picked it back up and threw it in their faces. Drogon’s teeth gnashed at the air, challenging the storm to a fight. It gladly obliged him, the wind shaking a high branch and dislodging the snow held there, which came crashing down upon the black brother’s hindquarters as he failed to scoot out of the way. As his hind legs buckled beneath the force, a raucous laughter erupted from Rhaegal’s mouth, and as soon as Drogon regained his footing he set after his brother.

Viserion trailed the two as they pursued one another, nipping at flanks and ears and tail. He shook his head, happy enough to simply lope along in their wake. Someday his two larger brothers would truly duel to figure out who was the most dominant. He only hoped it would not palliate the bonds of their brotherhood. For now, however, it was innocent enough play. Onwards they romped, Drogon and Rhaegal finally disengaging enough for the three to run down the paths that were laden with snow. They were tireless, pelting down the mountain in search of their next grand adventure. The storm might be fierce, but it was nothing the young dragons could not handle. Born upon these steep inclines, as they’d grown their bodies had naturally adapted to the terrain. It was all they knew, aside from their excursion to the salty shores of Glorall. But all three preferred their home, thinking that the sea was a fine enough place to go for a visit, but no home was so grand as their mountain.

As the path through the trees widened before them where they knew it would give way to a large clearing, Rhaegal and Viserion fell in at Drogon’s flanks. It was this action that often left Viserion thinking that Drogon would someday prevail as the most dominant of the trio, for ever since their youth such a formation when they moved together had been completely natural to them. Perhaps it was simply aesthetics, for the darkest of the three was also the largest, but it seemed to hint as something more to the golden child. As they moved away from the trees the wind howled around them, whipping their winter coats about just as Kalseru had warned them. Drogon growled a challenge, the sound still somewhat youthful but gaining maturity every day. He leapt forward, popping onto his hind legs as he struck out at an abnormally large clod of snow that threatened to catch him full in the face. As soon as his front paws hit the ground he dashed off, Rhaegal and Viserion quick to fall into step at their brother’s side.

They crashed across the clearing towards the shale where Hyrule had hid from the whipping winds, each snapping their jaws at the snow as it whirled around them. Distracted as they were, Drogon was the first to spot the white wolf hovering over the entrance to an empty den and he immediately ceased his battle with the storm. The trio was so well attuned to one another that Rhaegal and Viserion regained their focus no less than a second after Drogon had stilled. The wolf was no bigger than Viserion, the smallest of the trio, and so they continued forward brazenly. Who was this intruder? He was not familiar to any of the brothers, for they had met many of the other pups of the pack at Sorcha’s storytelling. Knowing exactly how Drogon would react to the presence of a stranger, Rhaegal bumped his shoulder against his brother’s glancing up at him with a look that said, ‘let me handle this.’ Garnet eyes rolled in their sockets, but as they further approached the boy who they now realized stood out against the snowy backdrop because he was more of a silvery color than unadulterated white it was Rhaegal that called out a greeting. “Hello there, are you lost?” He unknowingly answered the hello that Hyrule had only just questionably called down into the unoccupied den, the silvery white male’s greeting lost on the wind as it whisked the sound away. Rhaegal’s tones were far more welcoming than any greeting Drogon might have given. While the darkly hewn son was certainly the brawn of the brotherhood, and the golden one fringed with white was quickly shaping up to be the wisest, he of the grey pelt crowned in obsidian and chocolate was without a doubt their voice.

drogon; rhaegal; viserion