SLEEPING BY A DUMPSTER TO KEEP ME DRY,
WITH THE RADIO ON AND A NEW BLACK EYE.

Subtlety did not run in Dreadscale’s family, and he was finally coming into his own. His sire, Asp, had a tremendous flair for the dramatic, and Dragonmaw was about as much of a pain in the ass as a mare could be. With genetics like that, Dreadscale couldn’t stay a demure little boy for long (even if it had taken three years to get there) and truth be told, it was just more fun!

With a soft snort, he pushed his nose toward the gray stallion, inhaling and exhaling loudly a few times before bobbing his head and crow-hopping. Meeting new horses (horses that actually wanted him around, or seemed to) was an exciting experience, and everything had been so drab here…

Fallo angled his body so Dreadscale could get a good look at the scabs and scars, and his ears immediately shot forward. He’d never seen anything like it at all--Asp had done a pretty good job of running off any wildcats before he’d ever seen them, and for a moment his brown eyes widen.

“Dude,’ he murmured appreciatively, taking a curious step forward. He sniffed at the wounds and found only the bitter taste of sea and salt, but still--they were badass.

“Dunno,’ he began, throwing his head to the wind for a second, half-expecting someone to appear.

“I’ve only met the boss and a mare. Both’re kinda’ weird and keep to themselves, ‘far as I know.”

dreadscale,
I CAN DO BAD AND YOU CAN DO BETTER.