Dread was circling, back from a rest, and staring down with suspicion. Someone, yesterday, had summoned a BANANA at him. Out of nowhere! A ROTTEN banana! And he was afraid they might do it again; and so, he was skirting the edges of the snowstorm only carefully.

He had tried to steal one of the warding crystals; he still wanted one. But he was wary of potential strangers in the snow.

What he saw, though at first unclear, after a moment resolved into familiarity. That was a dragon--possibly one of his family? -Yes, there he was, Svartis, and-...

...What was he doing?

"-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Dread screeched down.

It was not demeaning, or even demanding. He was not that sort of dragon; he had never been a controlling parent, only vaguely, confusingly educational and protective, mostly a 'free spirit--here you are, kid, here's some food, i'm leaving for a few hours' kind of father.

However, Svartis bounding, fins out, through snow was completely bizarre, and Dread circled in bewilderment, staring down at him.

Svartis was an ice dragon. Like Asimona.

Dread was a fire dragon. He stared at Svartis, who was yelling IT'S SNOW--and to this, Dread's only response was a loud, complaining, (and more childish than his son's younger voice by far) "IT'S COLD."

He drew his magicka about himself like a cloak, pausing to hover for a moment; the temperature rose a tad, and he flapped there, not leaving that tiny pocket of very-slightly-warmer air. "WHY ARE YOU IN IT?" (and then even Dread realized this was a dumb question; Svartis was an ice dragon; "DO YOU KNOW HOW IT GOT HERE?"

This last was a genuine, almost suspicious question. The dragon was looking around, ember eyes searching the corners of Polaris. What had brought this bitter cold?

More importantly... would it spread..?

Dread turned, regarding the snowstorm with vague suspicion as Svartis spoke.

"THERE'S CRYSTALS," he informed his son in his customary screeching roar (which really had no reason); "HERE. LOOK!"

The dragon turned, drifting down at a low glide, flapping to keep himself airborne once he passed out of his little pocket of warmer updraft. Bass thuds echoed Svartis' own wingbeats, and Dread soared lower, hind legs sweeping down as he slowed, as his tail flipped up and back, talons settling in the snow.

He immediately squalled his disapproval, a short, anguished roar, because cold sucked; and then he shook himself irritably as he rocked forward, landing on his wings.

The dragon wing-walked rapidly toward the nearest glowing, floating crystal, the things holding back the wind, and the worst of the snow. "I can't TAKE IT," he complained, loudly, looking back at his son. "Magic just falls off it!" And then, eyeing Svartis, faint fatherly regard flickering over him (he didn't know what these things could do): "Be careful."

He looked forward again, shaking his fins; heat raised the temperature around him by a couple of degrees, but it wasn't nearly enough.

"Nooo, watch," Dread lamented (which actually meant yes, but that it hadn't worked).

The dragon pushed his snout to the crystal, sniffing at it: hot breath fogged its surface. But the moment he lunged, trying to seize it in his jaws, it was like it... shifted; his jaws were pushed back, closing on nothing, like some invisible barrier lay between him and the glowing stone.

"I can't get it," he complained, and he clearly wanted it. "It has magic, I think. Protecting it."

He tried to warm himself again, tilting his head this way and that, but his distraction--or lack of reliable magic, at the moment--wasn't enough; he felt the chill biting into his scales, and he shivered.

Snow felt like something that existed only to desecrate the warmth. Dread grumbled irritably, tilting his head and struggling to turn his attention back to the weird crystal.

"A shield... All of them! Maybe. Yes," he agreed. His son--his whole family--was smarter than he was and Dread held no resentment for that. He was glad that Svartis was maybe here to figure this out, in fact.

"Maybe we can BOTH TAKE ONE. If we can find out how," he added, in a spark of inspiration. More crystals meant more dragon-loot, right-? The question was... how did they work?

He prodded at it, circled it, wincing at the cold--trying to draw the heat around him like a blanket, again; but he couldn't figure this out, at all. At least he was a little warmer, now, the air around him not quite toasty, but not as frigid as it'd been before.