Things had become much more difficult, far too serious, since Rhaegal and his brothers had discovered Sorcha. The reality of her death had brought a certain solemnity to the most daring and adventuresome of the young dragons. In the weeks that followed responsibility seemed to descend upon his shoulders, only growing heavier during the gathering that his mother had called on one fine winter's day. The wolves that had come to her call had all been youthful, his generation and younger, for the most part. Shoud it not then fall to him and his brothers to reclaim the mountains for the next generation? He was not so sure that he was ready for all of that, or if he ever would be. Spirane, and Solevion before it, had always passed from mother to daughter by some means. But would Kalseru take up the mantel? Or would Daenerys have to continue to fight for what rightfully belonged to their family for another two years before a legitimate daughter of the throne could take over? Things had become much too serious for Rhaegal's liking, and he found himself contemplating things as his brother Viserion might farvtoo often these days.

Rhaegal shook his head, trying to rid himself of the overwhelming sense of responsibility. Blackened ears pulled back in frustration, glancing around at his golden hued brother who slept peacefully nearby. Drogon had wandered off again, as he seemed to do more often these days. While Bastille and Arthfael had been frequent companions for Rhaegal and Viserion, Semele had not been seen since they had all left the mountains. The affect her absence had on him was obvious, and he often provoked Drogon into spars just to get him to release some of his pent up emotions. And it was good practice for both of them.

When a familiar howl resonated across the lands, Rhaegal's ears pricked forward and his head lifted. Glancing towards Viserion, he figured he should probably wake him and tell him he was going, but a knowing smirk had already grown upon the wisest dragon's maw - he'd heard Bastille's call as well. But he did not shift to follow, possibly knowing how much Rhaegal needed a break from the politics of what was going on in regards to Spirane. Leaping to his paws, Rhaegal took off like a rocket, blazing across the open grassy fields towards where his closest friend had called for him.

Bastille was a perfect complement to his adventuresome nature, and very likely held the dose of mischievous antics that he needed. His long legs ate up the ground, maturity gracing him with a swift stride. He'd truly come into his own, a handsome young man with a well rounded physique. But as he spotted her, an echo of youthful playfulness entered his mismatched eyes. Just the site of her promised hassle-free enjoyment, and left him feeling lighter than he had in weeks. As he approached her, he slowed to a jog, his tail waving back and forth as his eyes darted to the rabbit trapped beneath her paws. Stepping to her, he excitedly touched his nose to her cheek in a brief greeting before he danced backwards and dropped into a play bow, eyes darting back and forth between her angled face and the rabbit pinned beneath her grasp. "Let the games begin," he dared. If she had been trying to relieve him of the weight that he fallen upon his shoulders, she had succeeded with absolute certainty.