Dread circled, still, not responding at first to Asimona's voice. He was thinking, deeply--remembering. Just-... not very well. He had some vague memory of a warm place--heat, and damp air--and a distant roof studded with bright lights, a roof he'd tried to reach, over an ocean of crashing waves.
He watched the slender, silver dragon suspiciously, and folded his wings, banking down to land. If Glory said she could be trusted, then that was fine--... But...
He rocked back, wings putting up dust as his thick hind legs punched against the sandy rock. His whole body then pitched back forward as he landed on his wings, and arched his neck back to eye over Asimona.
A faint memory hit him of ice--a sculpture--a... shiny.
"SHINIES," he barked suddenly, his roar a genuine bellow now, rather than a screech. He then shook himself, blinking, as if trying to recall the details. He looked to Glory, staring, thinking--here to ask for something to be made? But she was in his cave! She was-...
He looked sharply back to Asimona, ready to be angry all over again, but memory again flickered dimly in his mind.
...She had made him shinies. She'd been the first one to be kind to him--and suddenly the remembrance of company filled him with delight. He remembered being achingly lonely--and then having this silver dragon appear, and give him company! But--now this was his cave, and-...
Territorial anger and friendly recognition battled in him, a moment, before he settled for actually trying to speak like a normal Gembound. His voice now held deeply bass notes, rather than the screams of only a couple of cycles ago, but it was still harmlessly childlike, in its own way. "Asimona! I remember." Ember eyes travelled over her form, trying to recall all the details, but some were simply lost to time. His mind was not, after all, so sharp as some.
"Ice-dragon! And shinies." He shook himself, all traces of hostility gone, his spines all rattling and then settling back down along his neck and back.
Dread then proceeded to simply stand there, watching, staring--not saying a further word. He seemed content to merely observe, unaware that his intrusion might be seen as an interruption.