Pride peered after Dread in bemusement, squinting a little against the dust kicked up by the flaps of his great wings.

Would those wings pass on to the offspring-? Would anything, bar his flame?

The fire was enough--that much, Pride knew. And as for Nassir's stone...

He looked down again, and exhaled--and as Mischief left her hiding place, coming to press against his flank as he lay back down, he reached to nuzzle her. "They'll be something wonderful, Mischief. And we'll be their family," he told her.

She kicked into his fur, carelessly adjusting it, then flopped against him, and he couldn't help but smile, as best a stag could.

He was soon lost in imaginings, as he gazed upon the stones: in memories of what they'd been, and in hopes and dreams of what they could someday become.