When he landed, he could not find the monkey-thing. He'd circled back, waiting for the smoke to clear, but his sharp eyes had picked out nothing fleeing from the fire and the black.
Dread was fairly certain he had killed it, as he'd promised himself he would. He could not be sure, though--perhaps it'd managed to leap into some cover he couldn't see, saving its life at the last moment. But he could find no such cover.
For a time he simply circled, the heat of the rock he'd scorched adding a satisfying little extra lift beneath his wings; and at length, he landed. The smoke was clearing, now, and the rock charred black in places, but he saw no bones, no hair--perhaps he'd incinerated it completely..?
He did, however, see a few blackened stones--and he recognized them as at least a few of those that Howl had stolen from him.
For a time, the dragon was preoccupied with picking up every shining pebble with flicks and clumsy curling of his wing-claws, and with grinding nips of his jaws against flat rock. When at last he had them all he took flight once more, leaping into the air and winging his way back to his den.
Any others who dared to steal from him would suffer the same fate.
He was death on wings! He was fire incarnate! He was dread, taken form!
...He was Dread!
This new identity left his lips curled into the same savage grin, teeth glinting as he swept back to his alcove.
