Blight hesitated, even now, at the sudden prospect of clambering aboard the comparatively giant black dragon. After a moment, however, trust and exhaustion won the day, and he wing-walked shyly over (silent, for once) and carefully scooted his way up. Once he'd secured himself--by way of claws gripping spines carefully--he crouched low, blinking.

"Okay," he said simply, and waited.

And then-... they were rising, the air rushing past faster than it ever did to him alone--FAST! he thought, both thrilled and alarmed--and he was wide, wide awake.

Undoubtedly, whenever they reached their destination, he would fall fast asleep; but for now the hatchling clung with terror and exhilaration to Svartis, letting out only a single, tiny squeak.