Blight followed him closely back, worried. He'd never seen the big dragon so off-balanced, before, and he felt incredibly guilty when Dread hauled himself weakly into his den. The black stone abruptly began its crackling ascent, and Blight--perched at the edge of the den, and staring at Dread where he lay on metal scraps and gemstones--had to leap back and take wing to make sure it didn't accidentally cover him, too.

He pondered, pensive.

He felt ashamed, yeah, but he had to act now. He'd need to maybe get Bone here; he had to guard not only Dread, but the unhatched pair up above until Dread woke. Would it be days? Weeks-? He didn't know.

First things first: burns or not, he had to obscure the chrysalis. Once the obsidian had finished covering the larger dragon, Blight went to work lifting the scraps and gold and gems, scattering them atop the obsidian. It wasn't perfect as camouflage, and it certainly wasn't visible unless one literally crawled atop the gemstone anyway--but the chrysalis looked now like a black rocky floor of a treasure hoard. Blight would protect it all either way, but better to lose a few shiny objects than his adoptive grandfather.

Then he flitted up top, and--to his dismay--realized he was having to take over Dread's uncertain watch. He curled up between the two flints, staring at them uneasily. Hopefully they wouldn't hatch any time soon; he wasn't cut out to be a parent.

He tried to reach for his magicka one last time, but weariness had taken him; and though his stone did not, sleep claimed him moments later. His narrow snout lay out beneath the light, warmed, and he too drifted off to the sound of the sea below--body and magic working to heal his wounds.