The Zoisite knew well to stay clear of Draconua and the Black Spire. One did not live in proximity to either without knowing the threat the posed. The two had never exchanged words to the Zoisite's memory, though they-- it-- It remembered Draconua's bellowing voice, booming across the gathered Forge, moments before...

But it was not the Zoisite, not the grub or worm, who hears Draconua's sing-song hiss. It is Zoey who hears the not-lullaby, pulled from her quiet thoughts as she drags a hollowed gourd full of fresh harvest from the gardens. Bringing food to the Forge before she leaves for Canis on her patrol with her siblings.

Zoey had been... if it could be said... almost neglectful in her avoidance of Draconua. It was out of fear; a safe, healthy thing. But the days when she brought food and lights and flowers to the rest of her family were skirted carefully around the Black Spire, as though she could simply ignore the black sheep of the Forge.

It was, ostentatiously, the correct move.

But Zoey... well, she did like to be a messy, lived-in mistake of a living thing, didn't she? And the sound of Draconua's voice drew her attention for the first time in all of the cycles they had spent as neighbors-instead-of-family, and before she realized what she was doing, she found herself in the oppressive, burning light of the Black Spire, standing before the crater that two chrysalises nested within, crouched in Draconua's shadow.

"... Draconua," Zoey greeted with a soft click of her mandibles. "Are those your...?" Children. Daughters. Spawn.

A garden? The phrase was electrified surprise, biting at the tips of her talons. Zoey craned her head back, her bright golden eyes alighting upon Draconua's towering, brooding form. It was quite possibly the exact opposite of a response that she had expected from the monster that tore off throbbing, oil-soaked tendrils from her own body and swallowed them whole in a display intended to... intimidate, the rest of the Forge.

Zoey felt foolish, immediately. She had made judgements of Draconua, despite-- despite knowing better. Of course, the Valkhound was dangerous, deadly even, but... Draconua lived and breathed just like all of them. The Zoisite's quills rattled softly, a contemplative sound like falling rain.

"... That is a very poetic way of putting it," Zoey's voice strengthened, a confidence filling the vibrations between sharp clicks of mandibles. To not be shut down, but instead humored, it reminds her of Master Vargas. "I imagine they will grow like weeds," Zoey contemplated, and added as if to assure the mother that she meant it as compliment: "hardy and tough."

She shuffled in place, wriggling down on to her belly. The oppressive light of the Spire, so close, was enough to distort the world around them. There seemed to be a whisper on the wind, as though the black crystal breathed, but Zoey's attention was focused upon Draconua and her spawn.

"But they will surprise us, I'm sure." In part, being things of Chaos, but... that was the nature of new life. She wondered if Draconua expected them all to come out as little mini-clones of herself, or if she wanted them to destroy every expectation ever placed upon them.

Zoey didn't know Draconua at all, much less enough to make an educated guess. "What do you hope they'll be?" Words carefully chosen, but filled with genuine curiosity. Hope. Even monsters had dreams.