Apr 13 2018, 07:09 PM
Asimona was quite right--Dread had no idea what "alive" meant. Alertly attentive, he tilted his head and licked his own jaws, eyeing first the ice dragon, then the dragon made of ice. He stared between them, sitting back on his haunches.
Words drifted to him, fluttering down through his thoughts to his mind, as they seemed to for others--a remembrance of memories never truly known. He understood, now--thanks to Asimona's aid--that sounds could be formed into meaning. And he knew some that she had not taught him--now unlocked, unfurling, like his fledgling wings had the first time he'd flown.
But "alive?" That concept yet escaped him.
"Not alive. Not alive," he parroted carefully, before adding--"What 'alive?'"
This--a carefully-delivered, if not-quite-fully-formed--question, was aimed quizzically at Asimona. Dread then tilted his dark head, peering back at the ice sculpture, hissing and chirping curiously to himself. He had forgotten to be afraid of her, by now--of the white dragon; she was a friend, a mother or a sister of sorts. She was family, he decided. He didn't know the word--and yet he did; and so he blurted it, peering up at her again.
"Family," he cautiously squawked.
@Asimona