Dread watched the other dragon with dull interest, the glow of his ember eyes seemingly dimmed by the far brighter orb-light above.

Blight was an agile thing--pale and light and always looking more like bones with skin stretched across them than real draconic muscle. He had no real feelings for Blight one way or the other--a vague protectiveness, because Blight was family, but he was neither truly pleased with his presence nor very annoyed by it. It was all faint: a slight relief on seeing him alive, a little relief at another family member being around to help protect the eggs, a little defensiveness when Blight drew too close to them or lingered in Dread's roost.

He watched the pale shape flick upward, light turned to shadow as he swept overhead and blocked out the rays of the orbs. Dread turned, tracking him as he came in, landed; he noted with distant approval that the other dragon didn't land too near the "eggs."

Blight's questions--as he landed, as he wing-walked a couple steps over, smelling of fish and sea--had Dread blinking. The black dragon shook himself, a little, fins rattling and rising fractionally as he considered.

Ember gaze swung back around to blink at the chrysalises.

"THEY ARE NOT BOTH CHILDREN," he answered, voice booming, as always. "THIS ONE WAS A CHICKEN. IT WANTED TO FIGHT. THE OTHER ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ITS BABY." He fell silent, pensive. Had he messed up, somehow? He'd been wondering, for days--weeks; had he somehow burnt Kalama too badly for her to reemerge? Had it... killed the child, somehow, too? Even though the kid's stone was separate?

"I DON'T KNOW HOW IT ALL WORKS," he said, and his tone was plaintive, and clearly worried. He'd been guarding these chrysalises nonstop since they had formed, and it was growing tiring: raising a child, while constantly coming back to check on these, and ensuring that Haven and her nest and her hidden gemstone-in-the-hole were all safe, too--it was a lot for his daily routine. He'd rather just... laze around and sleep--and eat, of course. Eating was good.

"DO YOU HAVE MAGIC?" he demanded hopefully at Blight--and then blinked and shook himself; what a foolish question. Of course Blight had magic. "CAN YOU SEE IF THEY'RE ALIVE?" he amended, and stared at the other dragon with worry in his eyes.

Dread waited, tail lashing a little behind him. It was relieving--maybe?--to know that Kalama wasn't really dead, at least. He was pretty sure he'd "killed" her twice, now, but the last time she'd been just fine.

He hoped that would be the case again.

He drew closer, nostrils flaring, as he watched Blight try to work.

"AND?" he asked, fidgeting, trying not to be impatient. If Kalama died, well--that would suck, of course. But if the unborn child died-? That would be really sad. And Dread didn't like sad things!

Dread shook himself. He couldn't really think of anything, and this wasn't really distracting enough.

Oh, but-

"DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT?" he asked. Maybe blowing off some steam (rather literally, in his case) would help him to feel better? "I HAVE FIRE, AND YOU HAVE SICK. WE CAN SEE WHAT WINS," He decided.

Then he waited, still fidgeting. He hoped Blight wouldn't turn him down--he'd be careful not to kill him, at least. Svartis would be really upset if he did, and truth be told, so would he; he wasn't out to murder family members, or anything.

But a decent spar sounded good.

Dread felt something like a weight lift as Blight turned and nimbly leapt from the seastack. Good-! He could focus on something other than worry, for awhile. He could have fun! And practice!

Blight was roaring, already turning back and angling for him, when his haunches launched him into the air. Massive wings snapped out to catch his weight, easily billowing him upward, and he answered with a roar of his own: deeper, as Blight had expected, with a reverberating bass that echoed through Leo's 'sky.' His typical seabird retinue scattered, keeping well away from him--and then Blight's disease impacted him, swarming over his body.

He roared again, shorter this time, and shook his head--flinching and wincing away from the green. Fins rattled and spines rose along his back. He could feel nothing of it, yet, and he'd never seen this magic from the smaller dragon before, but he knew what it would do: it would make him sick.

He had to burn Blight before Blight "sicked him to death," as he imagined it.

He turned in the air, his own black jaws dropping open, and inhaled: as Blight's form streaked past he exhaled a flamethrower torrent of his own, flashing toward the plague dragon's hind end. He didn't think he'd manage to catch Blight's head, neck, or even torso or wings--he was too quick for that, passing too fast--but he'd catch him (he hoped) nonetheless.

His fire... had done nothing? With a strangled roar of frustration, Dread pumped his wings to try and keep up. He knew just as well as Blight did the smaller dragon's advantage of range, and he wasn't about to let him gain too much of it.

But Blight was mistaken in thinking that Dread had nothing that could reach him from afar. The black dragon did--and much of it was deadly.

He could have simply engulfed the other dragon in roaring fire with a thought, but that seemed... overkill. So! Instead, with a crackling bellow, he sent his magicka up into the air around them.

Cascading meteors, roaring with flame, began to smash down all around them--with Dread arrowing through them, closely pursuing his 'prey.'

The sickness would take mere moments to begin its work--but that was the problem with it; it wasn't like fire was, immediately deadly and instantly fierce. The benefit, he knew, was that it was hidden: Blight could kill someone without anyone ever knowing it had been him. He wouldn't--it wasn't like him--but the magic wasn't weak. Dread was wary as hell of it, after he'd been sickened long ago by something similar. He was afraid of it, in fact.

All the more reason to tangle with Blight harder, and faster, than the plague dragon could manage.