Rhaegal
He'd chosen the perfect spot, he felt, to partake in this event. Just on the outside edge of the group of pups, close enough to keep an eye on Moonfeather, without being counted as a number among them, and near enough to the front that he might be considered one of the adults orchestrating the whole thing. Mismatched eyes roved over the group, until his attention was taken by the approach of a black pup draped in russet with grizzled markings. If it weren't for his obviously youthful stature and behavior, Rhaegal might have thought he was meeting an tiny old wolf. He grinned, amused at his own thoughts. "Rhaegal," he said simply in reply to the boy's questions, because before he could elaborate any more on the other aspects the kid had moved on to Moonfeather. Rhaegal chuckled, glancing over his cousin and the chatty lad to a white pup accented in black markings. One ear was flopped over at the top, very much so like his cousin Rufio. Maybe he'd have to play matchmaker and introduce them sometime. When her pale green eyes met his gaze an awestruck look seemed to overcome her, and Rhaegal couldn't help but grin and give her a wink. He was a handsome prince, after all; the fact that he didn't have more girls staring at him was probably because he spent the vast majority of his time with either his siblings or Bastille.
A single blackened ear swiveled to the side as Sorcha's melodic voice greeted him, and his peculiarly colored eyes shifted away from the bashful girl to Spirane's Bard. He gave a polite dip of his nod to the woman, a grin lifting the corners of his maw as he gazed up at her. Ever since he had first met her when she'd literally washed up along the edge of Spirane three years prior he'd taken quite a liking to the storyteller. She had a way with words, able to spin wonderful tales that brought imaginative pictures into his mind with the details given in her stories.
Sorcha began to recount the saga of Peter the Cougar, and Rhaegal was immediately enraptured. Her words sprang to life, and it was as though the young dragon was watching it all take place from atop the cliffs of Spirane. His mismatched eyes became distant, though they never left Sorcha as she delved deeper into a world where severe spirits cursed haughty predators with the life of prey. Rhaegal's nostrils flared; served the cougar right, caring about nobody but himself. You could be an apex predator without making everyone around you feel like they were worthless. After all, the young princeling was determined to become the best himself, but that didn't mean he would ever cut down his siblings or friends to get to the top. Wouldn't it be better to help them achieve the same greatness? As the story continued he was distracted from such notions, pulled further into the world of Peter the Moose and the herd. He felt bad for the motherless calf, but he remembered what the vengeful spirit had told Peter before placing the curse upon him, 'One day you will need more.' Sorcha's legends usually had some kind of lesson behind them, and he suspected that it would soon come to light.
Digging the claws of his forepaws into the earth he leaned forward, hoping that if nothing else the calf would escape unharmed. Maybe the friends Peter would need would be the other moose, to help keep the girl safe or heal his wounds afterwards. Naturally, Sorcha paused, glancing around just before she would continue. It was then that a chorus of growls, barks, and playful howls distracted him and he was pulled back to reality. His head snapped towards the pups that were tumbling about with the other adult female, and his brows furrowed. Shaking his head he glanced around, suddenly wondering if anyone had noticed just how engrossed he'd been in the story. He lifted a paw, crossing it over the other as his nostrils flared and he tried to look a little more nonchalant when he glanced back to Sorcha, curious what would happen next.
two -- no heart -- no soul -- young dragon -- spirane