Drogon

Drogon cannot afford to turn away from the black mass of rage before him, but he can feel the way that Svenja hesitates behind him and curses inwardly. If this devolved into a true fight - as it was looking like it would - Drogon did not hold much hope of success. Fighting had never been his favorite pastime as it had been for the majority of his brothers, and until this very moment, Drogon had never really believed in the importance of physical training. But even after what the seal bay assumed was a double ocean swim and at least some sort of scuffle in the Ridge, Fell still looked fit to fight.

The two of them postured against each other, hatred glittering in both of their eyes even as they met chest to chest. It was only the sound of Svenja's murmured apology that they broke. Together, they turned to look at the little splash mare, as it was not immediately clear who her apology was for.

And while she would probably never know it, the fact that Drogon had turned to her then, in fear that she was telling him no, was as much damning evidence of his growing fondness for her as would ever be found. As much as Drogon hated to admit it, he would hardly be able to blame her for taking the safe option and deciding to stay now that Fell was here. It was one thing to propose a daring surprise escape, and something else to try and run away beneath your captor's nose. As her choice became clear when she turned to run, however, triumph glittered in Drogon's eyes and he turned back to face his brother.

But he is slow to turn, and Fell is furious. The black stallion fell upon Drogon with a vengeance and they were immediately lost in a true fight, the first that Drogon had ever experienced. The seal bay was untested in any fight that truly mattered, but he did not back down. The dragon that had roared to life in his breast at the challenge to his claim of Svenja refused to back down as well, lending confidence and arrogance to Drogon's normally calculated movements.

Even so, Drogon knew that his best advantage was Fell's tiredness and that his anger would likely make him sloppy. Once the worst of their blows had been landed, and both of them were panting with exertion, Drogon grew more strategic: lashing out at leg joints instead of ribs and waiting to ram his brother until Fell was off balance. By then, he was already more bloodied than his brother - and crimson was oozing from half a dozen cuts or more, dripping down the slender shape of his muzzle even as he stared Fell down. He knew that all he needed was one moment, one small window of opportunity, and he would be able to come out of this on top no matter the odds.

He needed this.

Not just for Svenja - although her well-being and happiness were surprisingly important to him - but because he needed to win this. At first, Drogon had only intended to delay his brother long enough for the splash mare to escape, but now the fight was about something else. The more they'd traded blows and the longer Drogon had given the reins to the dragon, the more the fight had transformed.

It wasn't just about Svenja. It wasn't just about the little cretin she had at her side. It wasn't just that Fell had taken what had belonged to Drogon.

It was about making sure he never did it again.

Can you feel it?