Squeaky giggles bounced off the dark roots the three were under as Crown affirmed his name. Yes! They were both Crown! Sword (or- Crown TWO!) was absolutely thrilled by the entire prospect of this discovery, not noticing where he was swinging around the root before it smacked right into the original Crown.

He dropped it in surprise and whined out quickly, sloshing forward and pressing his horns under Crown’s chin to maybe help him up. If he knew to say sorry he’d absolutely be professing the words in his hooves and knees, tittering unhappily as he tried to give his own weight to his brother to lean on as well.

A pink eye regarded the Dog’s own as an answer was given to Sword’s question. The description- that may as well been a story- captured him as the rest of his body moved to support Crown’s own. The word large was quickly lost on the child’s mind, for what could be larger than his father? But scales- he attributed that to be the kind of things he had on his legs, and he has teeth, horns- did he breathe fire? He… He didn’t have wings, right? ”Why they bad?” Came the stuttered speech after everything, Sword’s eyes wide with wonder. If they had to avoid them, they must be bad, right? Was it the fire? Maybe sharp teeth- that sounded bad, innately.

His head pulled down minutely when his father asked in turn. They had to want something? Sword’s jaw went slack for a brief moment before he chewed at the insides of his cheeks lightly, white-flecked eyebrows drawing down as he struggled to come up with an answer instead of more questions. What did he want… ”Want… Be here! Want Crown!” He yipped as he looked back up, grinning with eyes closed. Both crowns and Crown were pretty important to him, so he’d like both!

@Crown

Crown One didn't particularly mind that his brother held the same name and treasured it just as much. If anything, the little nervous, overstimulated wreck was made eager by it. While he was steadied out by such an announcement, that didn't help his petulant little whines as he shuffled to his hooves. Preferring a stronger support, the lamb leaned against Black. Crown's tail flicked from side to side as he lowered his head and scrubbed the "injured" cheek against a kneecap and whimpered again. It was a sharp sound, meant only to get a parent's attention and demand love.

He wasn't really that hurt, and might've said as much if he: a.) had a stronger grasp of speech, and b.) was asked about it.

The whole debacle was enough, at least, to make the little lamb redouble his efforts to lope around and gallop with the same ease his brother seemed to. Crown's weight shifted away from the mastiff's flank rather abruptly as he tottered forwards a few steps. His little hooves continued to disappear into the mud, and his tail felt like it was strung with washers, but he was persistent. Singularly focused on the task, he lowered his head and moved in a fairly wide turn so that he was at his brother's side. Together, then, they were regaled with a tale of fire and dragons. The description was fairly strange, and Crown had no judge of largeness or length at all, but envisioned a hairless Black with horns and large teeth. He had no clue what wings looked like, but he presumed that they were something like another set of eyes on the face. That seemed about right.

Something about it all set his teeth on edge though. Talk of fire should've inadvertently warmed him up, but it instead sent a steely cold through his veins like a shot. Quickly as it came, the sensation vanished - and it seemed entirely forgotten as he stood straighter and slopped a few steps forward with eager white eyes, "wing?" Just to prove his guess right or wrong. "Want to know wing!"

@Black

Bad, the hound thought, pondering. Is he bad? And what would define this? Whose decision-?

There was little time, though, for philosophical pondering when it came to also babysitting spry new hatchlings; and so he simply rephrased his answer.

"I do not know if he is bad. Angry. Sad. To lose oneself to this is to become dangerous." He spoke almost absently, watching the two bound through the mud--or try to. It struck him that Cetus was not, perhaps, the best place to raise children: the mud was dangerous, the water dangerous, and it was hardly a bright, happy or magical place where they could truly stretch their limbs and run, or even learn. And how had Eve raised their son here..? Wings, came the answer, almost at once. The two could fly; the sinking, sucking mud was not a problem for them.

So: his one child wanted to be near the other; well, they had that already, so that was good. And the second wanted... to 'know wing?'

Black's brow furrowed up. Did it mean it wanted to know Raheerah-? Or wanted to know what wings were? He covered both in his slow reply, just to be safe.

"Raheerah is too dangerous to see. Your stone-givers died to him," he reiterated first. "A wing is for flying. Two limbs, on the back, from the shoulder, with skin or feathers, perhaps fingers. They lift, and the creature lifts; they flap, and it flies."

A moment's concentration brought twin shadowy wings, superimposed on the light mist that shrouded them, sprouting from his back. They rose, arced above him, flapped once; and faded. "They look like this," he told them, before they had disappeared.

A moment's thought took him, and memory. "There are those who say they have gotten wings from Kings in Orion. If you wish wings, perhaps we could ask them."

Once Raheerah was gone, of course. Though Black suspected he was already. Wings would make Cetus easier to navigate, at least, he reasoned.

@Sword

It was a wise move to withhold philosophical inquiries from childish minds. Even with what the Black Dog had said, Sword's brain worked overtime as he squinted down into the floor. To... Lose oneself? "I never lose oneself! I right here, we're all right here!" A grin revealed a toothy maw unbefitting for such a herbivorous-faced creature.

How could someone be so lost when they knew who they were?

Sword listened intently to the second answer- wings. How had he not thought of that? "Fly? I wants to fly!" He chirped with enthusiasm, immediately drawn to the shadows his father conjured. A hoof raised to touch at them and disturbed the mist at one wrist, wonder clear across his face. Briefly, he thought to ask if Black could fly, but the wings seemed temporary and not at all there- how could someone fly like that?

"Wings good for flying! We go see many kings for many wings?" What's a king? No- too many questions, Sword! Keep your mind on straight. It wasn't hard- the fixation of feathers and ascending into the air curled around his brain. It wasn't hard for him to just imagine it- and for him to extrapolate what flying entailed, really. But what was Orion, too? They had to see kings and Orions? Maybe the asking was the easy part of it all.

But, he shook his head rather exaggeratedly to slap out those thoughts, ear flapping into his face. "We all get wing!" His tail slapped the ground with enthusiasm.

@Crown

Angry and sad were both words lost on the lamb - and his brother, as well. Crown's head bobbed in agreement. They were, indeed, all right here. Just for good measure, he toddled forwards through the muck - young wool dragging along extra mud-weight - lifting and prodding his wristbones against Black's sturdy leg, then shoving his face into Sword's shoulder. Still here. Still tangible. A soft mmreh! escaped Crown as he continued to rub on his brother, not mindful of the obsidian nubs on his forehead.

Frosted eyes stared back at his father, brows rising at the sound of Raheerah. What an elaborate sound compared to the rest! It sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine, something he coupled with the mention of danger. Two things were now dangerous to Crown: angry-sad and Raheerah; perhaps they were one and the same. Raheerah was anger and sadness. The lamb's ears rolled up, gaze darting around in the mist. Nothing big was here, nothing with wings. He is lost? They should go find him!

No, Crown, you should not.

He blinked once, and found something else to fixate on: "died?"

Glossing over that immediately, Crown excitedly plodded ahead to swipe his short horns through the wings, furrowing his brow as they passed without trouble. All he did was stir up the mists. Rearing up (and nearly falling) he bleated. Magic gleamed through his being, casting a stunning white glow across the entirety of his pelt. Squinting at the abruptness of it, Crown twisted his head back immediately, wiggling his shoulders. But, sure enough: no wings. He pouted, briefly baring his sharp baby teeth and nibbling at either shoulder to make sure. No wings whatsoever.

Still glowing, he rounded Black's front and joined Sword in his pleading. "I wants fly too! We all fly!" Crown's tail wagged at mach speed as he bleated, a little softer this time, "see kings, see kings..."

@Black

Black pondered, his mind the slowly-rolling boulder that it always was: gradual, but implacable.

...Yes, they would try to get wings. The child was making magic; this was good. It was his magic, even--if slightly reversed--and of that, he was proud. The Black Dog's mind rolled gently to a stop here, and his speech then made an appearance.

"Then I will teach you to hunt--if you hunt; and to live. To use magic--that is good," he added, in approval, toward the glowing of the pair of them. He would take them, too--in time--to see the place where their parents had fallen, since by all accounts Raheerah was no longer a threat, for now. "And when you know how to do those things, then we will try to find you wings."

A pause, and then--brow wrinkling--"You will be hungry soon. Do you wish to come with me, to find food; or will I bring it here?" he asked. Perhaps most responsible adults would not ask their newly-hatched children (spawn of children he'd already gotten killed, no less) to trundle off into the drowning black of Cetus, and hunt (or, at least, gather?) with him. But Black was a believer in agency; they could decide for themselves.

Never mind that they were all of fifteen minutes old; he would protect them.

...He hoped.

@Sword