Blight, alongside Svartis, began to flap skywards. For each of Svartis' great, powerful wing-beats, Blight's tiny appendages slapped the air five or six rapid, struggling times. His little body bobbed, long tail thrashing at the air as he tried to keep airborne.

It was clear that he was still very new to this whole 'flying' thing, and despite his wish and eagerness to stay aloft on his own, he might not have the stamina for a true hunt. Still, for now he didn't falter, instead scanning the ground below with glowing eyes.

Distant movement had him squeak in excitement, and nearly fall from the sky--missing a wing-beat and dropping several meters. And then he made a mistake that, in some, might have haunted them for many years afterward, the memory drifting back to return with dark-faced cringing at the still hours of the night.

Luckily, Blight was still very young and oblivious, and wouldn't really care.

We all have our little brain misfires. Blight was still very young, and he began to call out Svartis' name, but the thrill of spotting prey short-circuited his mind. He remembered, halfway through, that Svartis was his new Dad (!) but he'd already begun to call out.

What he blurted, then, was neither 'Svartis!' nor 'Dad!' but-

"SVARDAD!" followed quickly by, "There!" Tiny body tumbled, then streaked with surprising speed (probably half-falling, half-gliding, in truth) toward a distant cave deer off near the Throne.

@Svartis

Svartis cast a sidelong glance at Blight, trying desperately to not look so concerned about the little dragon's enthusiasm and the lack of... well, muscle to back all of that. He squeaked, falling briefly through the sky - then, there was the "SVARDAD!" and his subsequent dive through the air.

Now, it was the black dragon's turn to nearly fall out of the sky. Svartis blinked first at the hatchling's gusto, careening through the sky; second, at what he'd just been called; third, at the cave deer most certainly trying to escape into the crumbling ruins by now.

As if suddenly spooked into motion, he dove down, obsidian glinting in the starlight above - massive wings beating into the air with enough force to keep himself from becoming a red stain on the ground. Pale eyes sparked, and he dove down, sputtering... a few snowflakes aggressively in the direction of the deer. Svartis grunted, flapping his wings and trying to at least make a somewhat smooth landing while the Lesser clattered away to safety.

Solidly on the ground, he huffed in disappointment: "nice spot, bud. But - um, sorry that my magic didn't work catching it."

@Blight

It took the hatchling a moment to catch up with Svartis, but when he did he at first passed him, bobbing unsteadily along in the air. When he realized that Svartis had paused--even landed--he turned back, doing a double-take (and peering confusedly after the deer, or at least, where it had gone) before wobbling back.

He nearly tumbled from the air, catching himself at the last second with a wavering grasp of wings, dropping the last foot or so with a wince. But it seemed good enough; he toddled quickly toward Svartis, peering up at him.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, confused, glancing off into the ruins. Surely Svartis could fly faster than a deer could run-? But the idea of magic not working, at least, seemed familiar to the baby, and he laughed in that unintentionally hysterical sort of way. Apparently, failing magic was just the funniest thing, and--too young to really register that it might come across as insulting (though really it was more nonsensical than anything)--he kept laughing for a long few moments after.

"You spat snowflakes," he said at last, grinning brightly up at 'Dad.'

@Svartis

Meeting the ground, Svartis had taken a few stumbling steps before steadying himself on his wings and waddling in place to look at Blight. Out of the air, his fins flattened down (and wouldn't you know it? The hatchling had some of those too!) "Why did you stop?" Icy eyes blinked, and he tried to shake himself off casually - coolly, even.

"Well - I lost the element of surprise! That deer would've run into some space where I didn't have room to fly," the black dragon grunted, noting quietly to himself could've just run after it on foot, though. A mental shake of the head. No, no, that's a good lesson to teach to my brand new kid. (Should I introduce him to Mom and Dad and Bone now?) "When you get bigger, you'll have to remember that you've got a whole lot of wing to deal with."

Assuming Blight would reach such great sizes.

Anyways - Svartis huffed at the child's laughter, too amused to take any offense. "Wanna see more of them?" Without waiting for an answer, the dragon flared his fins out, gemstone glinting.

One by one, it seemed the stars were falling as fat, fluffy snowflakes. Each one swirled around them, dancing over Svartis's frigid scales and clinging to any crevice possible. They descended in a light flurry, gathering fairly quickly on the ground (perhaps with a little aid from freezing the ground) and forming a miniature winter wonderland for Blight to play in.

Icy eyes set on the hatchling, almost eager to see what he'd think of it.

@Blight

The lesson about wingspan came and went, Blight only about half-hearing it. It wasn't that he was ignoring Svartis, or indeed even wandering in terms of attention. It was just that he was so tiny that the concept was a little beyond him.

Snow, though-!

He turned, and leapt for it. He spun and danced, flapping and falling, scampering along the ground, wide-eyed, at first, then laughing. Tiny jaws snapped for it. After only a moment, though, he pulled away and blinked, licking one off his snout and shivering.

"They're-" (a pause, as he searched for the word) "Cold!"

Blight wing-walked awkwardly backward a few paces, squinting up quizzically into the now-fading flakes. "Why are they cold?" he then asked, fixing Svartis with the blank gaze of the utterly innocent.

Surely the older dragon would know-?

@Svartis

Overjoyed wasn't enough to describe how Svartis was, seeing the dragonet enjoy the dancing snowfall. At least someone other than himself and his mother could enjoy the biting cold and beauty of snow.

He gave a few spirited flicks of his tail, shoveling the tip of his beak-like snout in the snow and tossing it Blight's way. It wasn't anything too hefty, mostly because the black dragon had a terrible sense of size and didn't want to - well, squish his new son.

But, let's be honest: Svartis also had a terrible sense of why things are the way they are. Instead of providing any kind of scientific answer (not that the kid would've really wanted one anyways, right?) he just hunkered down over a lightly dusted patch of snow. "When they get warm, they melt away," and as an example, he huffed on it, watched it seep into a light dusting of water on the ground, "and it's water again."

At least he kind of understood the water cycle.

Enough about his own magic! Icy eyes fixed on the hatchling, fins flattening again. "Uh, if you aren't up for another hunt - want to take another stab at your own magic? I bet it's cool," Svartis encouraged, settling down on the spot. He was immediately grateful for the extra space provided by the general area of Orion.

@Blight

He listened, rapt, but all interest in the snow vanished the second "not up for" emerged from Svartis' mouth.

"I AM!" Blight squealed, without explaining what, exactly, he "was" (the answer being, up for another hunt). Some spark of what might have been in store in his future--a fierce and restless nature--reared its head, and the hatchling turned and flew like a bumblebee, bobbing and smacking off terrain, for the ruins.

He vanished in among the broken buildings, and there were comedic sounds of scuffling and a few muttered cries of "oof" and the like.

And then, a single, small red rat--perhaps a foot long--came scrambling out at top speed. It raced toward Svartis, and off to one side--and then paused.

And sneezed.

Blight came tumbling out after it, dropping onto wings and legs, yelling: "Get it! Get it! I made it SICK!"

He hurriedly wing-waddled after it, though it was near Svartis by now. Caves only knew how the hell he'd found one that quickly--luck, perhaps--but he seemed too slow to actually catch the thing himself.

@Svartis

"I AM!" and there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Blight scurried off into the ruins, making a rather hilarious amount of noise and scuffling. There's no way he's going to get anything, Svartis hummed thoughtfully to himself, not at all trying to seem internally derisive. The dragonet was just making so much noise -

A red rat scattered close to Svartis, and it took a few precious seconds of what? for predatory instinct to creep in and send him lurching forwards to pounce on it and deliver a killing bite to the neck.

Serpentine snout fitting perfectly over the relatively tiny scruff, the black dragon crunched down. The poor thing didn't have time to think about what was coming; it went limp and still immediately, with perhaps one twitch of the hind leg. Giving it another crunch for good measure, Svartis dropped it. He nearly waddled away from it to allow Blight first dibs, but he faintly remembered someone getting any carcass started for him.

He hunched over, using his teeth to carve out a decent hunk from the rat's hindquarters, and shuffled away some distance to swallow it whole. Settling down and leaving Blight to his meal, he belatedly asked, "you made it what? Sick?" I just ate that. "Sick, how?"

@Blight

For a moment, the look of horrified betrayal on Blight's face said it all: he thought Svartis was about to eat the mouse himself! -But the black dragon left him enough, more than enough; and Blight blinked and settled down to it.

Wings clumsily pinned the body as he pulled free chunks of food, tossing his head back to swallow them down. In between bites, he answered.

"SICK! You-..."(gulp) "do ice! I do sick," he explained cheerfully. It wasn't really clear to him that eating a sick thing (at least, if you weren't the Gembound possessing the magic and illness harmlessly) might make the eater sick. And yes, there was every chance Svartis might immediately show symptoms.

Luckily, Blight's magic was restricted, as yet, to bouts of sneezing--a little annoying, perhaps, but certainly nothing dangerous or even weakening.

The baby paused, tail swishing slowly to and fro behind him, and licked his jaws as he looked up to Svartis, meal finished. For a moment, it seemed he'd come to some grand idea; perhaps he was realizing that he might've inadvertently sickened the black dragon-?

"I wonder if it could... could snow SICK. Or--or sneeze snow!" The hatchling dissolved into another fit of giggles, the idea tickling his toddlers' fancy.

No; he hadn't figured anything out. Oh well.

@Svartis

Svartis's snout crinkled, biting back a sneeze. Eyes watering, he lifted a wing to scrub at the rims and then his nostrils. A totally innocent gesture, were it not for the creeping panic of my son? just made me sick. He sniffed, I'm a big dragon. I can take it. Don't want to make him feel bad...

He left the baby to the rat, humming only briefly before finally unleashing a sharp sneeze. It was... surprisingly soft and quiet for something of his stature - but not without its fair share of snot and puffy frost (thereby answering a question Blight would have in a second.) Clearing his throat of the incident and sniffing again, the black dragon shook himself off. "Doing sick'll be good for hunting," Svartis grunted, "maybe not for sharing."

His fins rattled as he shook again, and he left the carcass of the mouse right where it was. No harm, no foul.

"I'm sure you could figure out how to make it snow... sick," Svartis shuffled in place, almost looking like he was kneading the stone to make it more comfortable, "I could try to - teach you how to make snow and ice?"

@Blight