He hated to think about the disease that plagued his daughter. Why had he not been more vigilant, ensured everything that she could possibly come in contact with was clean and that no danger would befall her and her siblings. That this had not been a thing he would have recognized as anything more than a carcass in the woods didn't matter. His job was to protect his family, and he felt that he had failed. Rhaegal shook his head lightly at the next question posed to him. "I guess there are a lot of ways - but no other pup in the pack has gotten sick. Something else must have brought it in." Melee had contracted a disease that was seeping the very life from her, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing except gather the plants Moonfeather had sent him out to look for, and hope that they could help even in the slightest way. So when the male indicated them off in the tall grasses, Rhaegal set to work with fervor, and yet a gentleness as well, carefully extracting the roots in their entirety.

Looking upon the roots he had collected, he felt a small wash of relief, knowing that he would be able to deliver these to the healers, and that maybe it would bring his daughter one step closer to overcoming this illness. Lifting his gaze to the older male, he found himself caught off guard in this momentary relief. It offered him the clarity of mind to see what stood before him. Even in his confusion, he thanked the man, who brushed off the recognition and seemed as if he might simply be on his way with his good deed for the day completed. But there was a tension building between them, perhaps one that had been there from the moment they'd crossed paths, but that Rhaegal had not realized before. The man urged him to get going, to tend to his daughter, and for a moment his mismatched gaze fell to the pile of roots. He should simply go, leave his suspicions behind and tend to what mattered most.

But he could not let this sleeping dog lie. The request this unknown wolf made of him broke through the somber atmosphere that had consumed his life for the past week or more, bringing forth the brave and sometimes overly bold wolf that Rhaegal had been all his life up to this point. His voice was hard as he asked the wolf who had turned his back who he was.

And as he spun to face him, it was like a veil was lifted. There was Drogon, in the curled lips and saliva gathering between teeth. And Kalseru, in the deep and strong chest that barreled towards him. His own ringed eyes stared back at him from a white mask that was only too similar to Viserion's. There was the complete reversal of presence, from his mendacious kind and helpful state to his true controlling and hateful behavior, the erratic tendencies that Daenerys had spoken of. Only a single hind foot shifted backwards, the sudden volatility like a force of nature pushing him back. But he stood firm as Leonidas impeded upon his space, growling insults and making his own demands of the younger male. The brazen side of Rhaegal wanted to spit in his face, tell him he had not been a whelp in many years. But years of dealing with Drogon's occasional rage had taught him many things. His eyes narrowed and he bit his tongue. For a moment he simply stood firm, watching the rage pulse through that single ringed eye that was so like Rhaegals'.

The determination in his gaze shifted then, transforming into pure and utter disgust. If this was what he was born of, he wished he had never crossed paths with him. As much as he wanted to rage against the male who stood before him, all he could feel was disgust in regards to him. He had more important things to deal with, for he had promised that he would always be there for Bastille and their children - unlike Leonidas, who had left his mother pregnant and alone. Alone, but never really on her own. She'd had the pack, and she'd had her Young Dragons. And so, drawing a single breath through his nostrils, Rhaegal did everything in his power to control the contempt he felt, speaking evenly as he said only, "You are due nothing," before turning away from the male who had given him nothing more than his DNA, stooping to grab up as many roots as he could in his jaws and setting off towards Spirane's borders without a second look back.

After all, fatherhood had taught him many things - least of all that his family, his true family, was what mattered most.