"YOU WOULD LIKE PISCES," Dread said, rudely making it more a statement than a guess. "ASIMONA LIKED IT. IT WAS COLD. IT WAS PRETTY--LIKE HER STONE. LIKE DIAMONDS IN WATER." Perhaps surprisingly poetic from the big beast. "BUT IT IS VERY FAR FROM HERE," he added--and Ursa certainly held its own beauty. But to Dread, he associated Asimona with Pisces most of all, and imagined Charon might have liked it more; Ursa's beauty was rough mountainsides and bitter storms, a true wilderness type of beauty, whereas Pisces's was the glitter of light in water droplets and the shimmer of the great lagoon.

"MY TAIL?" he asked, glancing back at his now-long tail, then back at Charon. "IT WAS MOSTLY MY TAIL THAT GREW. I DON'T KNOW HOW, EXACTLY. I WENT TO SLEEP IN MY STONE, SOMETIMES, AND WOKE UP AND IT WAS LONGER!" If he'd had known how to control the results of his chrysalis, he'd have been a hundred feet long and unstoppable.

Dread considered, eyeing Charon. "NO," he answered, when he couldn't think of anywhere appropriate off the top of his head. But--BUT!

The dragon turned, without warning or explanation, and took two long, leaping bounds. His feet struck the sand as he landed from the second, and with this momentum he leapt skyward--wings catching his weight on the warm wind and carrying him a bit away. He didn't go high--or far, even; he swept back down, coasting in along the beach until he was skirting the edge of the trees. Abruptly his wings lifted at an angle and he dropped much lower, his tail lifting, then slamming down as he skimmed the earth and sand.

Magic came with the sudden sweep downward of his tail--wings pumping to lift him higher, the entire momentum of his lifting body tearing his obsidian-edged tail into the ground. The hit was imbued with magic, and with a shattering crack a hole tore through the ground, a splitting fissure that gaped like a huge jaw at the trees' edge.

Dread curved higher, silhouetted briefly against the sky's light, then back and down again, sweeping in for a second landing. One plume of sand later and he was wing-walking toward the pair. "YES," he called, and as he drew closer, glanced back at it: "YOU COULD REST IN THERE. I COULD SEE IT FROM MY NEST AND CHECK ON YOU."

It wasn't the most common sense solution, but it was... efficient, at the very least.

Dread peered quizzically at Charon. "YOU'RE DOING IT NOW?" he asked, surprised. He figured they'd... he didn't know. Talk. Get to know one another. Eat, maybe discuss treasures or something. He wing-walked over, glancing at the hole. "IT ISN'T SAFE. YOU ALMOST DIE. THE STONE SAVES YOU. I DON'T KNOW WHY I JUST SLEEP," he added, in explanation.

Maybe he was special, somehow? He'd never really thought about it, before.

Bone was lingering nearby, silent, and he glanced to her as if for help--but she only watched Charon, pensively.

If he found the questions childish, he made no sign--possibly because he himself was hardly known for intellect or for emotional maturity. Fins rose slightly--maybe taken aback, maybe defensive, maybe proud; it was hard to tell--at the mention of his "things." "I HAVE TREASURES!" he replied.

At full volume, of course.

Flameglow eyes searched Charon, as if looking for something, possibly worriedly. "YOU KNOW? LIKE GOLD! AND GEMS! AND CRYSTALS THAT SING!" He leaned back again, thinking. "...YOU DON'T?" he asked, and it was more curious than surprised--so far as he knew, he was the only one of his entire family to really hoard things at all.

"THEY ARE DYE," he said. "A THING IN ANOTHER CAVE PUT MAGIC IN IT. IT STAYS EVEN AFTER I SLEEP." He hesitated, for a moment; he couldn't remember the Gembound's name, or even a description beyond hazy memories of black-gray fur and stubby fingers. Oh, and a heavy brow with--yellow stone? He wasn't entirely sure. "SOME GEMBOUNDS, THEY HAVE A MAGIC TO PUT COLORS ON YOU." A clumsy explanation, but hopefully it would do.