The young dragon was circling over the dark waters of Fornax, watching for the telltale shimmer of surface-drifting fish. The silver things often slipped to the air to snag down the insects that would flutter over the surface--making them, in turn, easy prey.

There was a splashing from somewhere ahead--and it was frantic, ongoing. He turned, banking, ember eyes peering down. He expected to see a few fish, perhaps, in a feeding frenzy over an insect cloud. Instead there was a wet, brown, hairy thing in the water, thrashing and flailing.

He hesitated for a moment--the rats could be savage, but normally they could swim just fine. Was this one wounded..? Easier prey, perhaps?

Dread made a rapid decision, then swept down like a bird of prey in an attempt to snag the hyena pup in his hind talons. He himself was not, however, all that large--certainly not heavy--and he found himself floundering, too, at the water's surface, half-dragged down. He squawked, leathery wings frantically beating and barely keeping him aloft. With a loud, shrieking squeak he banked and tried to drag the thing back to shore--to the loose rocks at the water's edge.

Once he got it there, he could decide if it was too tough to tackle--but for now his talons were tangled in wet fur, and he just wanted out, before the weight dragged him down and he drowned with it.

The little dragon hit shore--quite literally; as his prey caught on the rocks he plummeted face down into the loose stones. After a moment of frantic flapping and flailing, he managed to disentangle his talons, and--partly balancing directly on his face--managed to drag himself quite quickly a few paces away.

There he turned, staring and squeaking and panting at the --that wasn't a rat.

"NOT RAT!" he squalled in an accusing tone. Whatever this thing was, it was bigger than a rat, heavier, and it looked--young? Like it had yet to grow.

Dread flipped out his wings and flapped them, drawing himself up to his full height quite irritably. He wasn't even sure this thing was food. Careful, cautious, he began to stalk around it--sniffing at it--from a safe distance.

"TALK?!" he demanded of it, nostrils flaring and ember eyes narrowing in suspicion. His own grasp of language was primitive, at best, but he wondered if this were another thing-that-spoke, rather than a thing-to-eat.

Though, perhaps the categories could overlap? He wasn't quite sure, yet.

For a moment, his curiosity--a faint sense of pity, even--was stirred, as the thing curled up away from him. Then it, very suddenly, was on fire. Or, well--smoking. And he hadn't even touched it yet!? Normally he burned his prey, sure, but--he hadn't even DONE anything!

With a confused squeak he backed up a hasty few steps, staring at it. For a moment he felt that feeling, like another of those accursed fruits would simply spawn, but it stopped after a moment.

Dread sat back, tail slowly lashing over the loose stones. He remembered to glance around him, briefly--to ensure nothing else was sneaking up on them. Then he huffed, and hissed, and looked back to Moth.

HE HADN'T EVEN SET IT ON FIRE YET. WHY WAS IT STILL BURNING?!

He waited for it to stop, wondering if it'd be burned to a crisp, and edible--maybe something in the water had burned it?--or if ...something else would happen.

He was still unsure if it was a thing that could talk. It wasn't that he'd have moral reservations about eating a small, tasty thing that could also speak--it was more that it was more valuable to him alive, if it could. Company was scarce; knowledge scarcer.

Maybe he could talk to it, then eat it.

Abruptly the thing was moving--then falling, scrambling about, falling again--then turning to pace toward him. Alarmed, Dread stepped quickly backward before she could get too close, and leapt directly upward, his broad wings catching air and beating furiously to lift him from the loose stones and into the air. Water still dripped from his talons, his razor-tipped tail lashing beneath him as he rose somewhat higher.

The spines along his neck, throat and back all stood on end, the membranes between them erected and stretched, so that he looked a bit bigger--like a hyena with its hackles raised, really. He screeched loudly, threateningly, and as if in warning, his magicka welled up to heat the air around him. It was weak, but there--a blooming warmth around him that promised further heat if pushed.

"TALK?!" he demanded, more loudly this time, his voice the same screech-roar of a baby dragon. "NOT-RAT!? AM HOT," he warned, with a long, drawn-out hiss--just in case the newborn got any ideas about attacking him.

The little dragon listened, eyeing Moth very suspiciously. When it barked out Talk! a lot instead of further attacking him, he slowly, warily set back down, landing in the loose pebbles and staring.

"TALK," he agreed loudly, then hissed--a long, loud sound, though high-pitched. For a long moment he then stared blankly at Moth. She had his interest, yes, but his vocabulary was... limited, to say the least, and now he had no idea how to proceed.

"Talk?!" he repeated, demandingly.

He did not seem hostile--only loud, but he was definitely loud.