The young dragon shivered in the algid bloom of frost, sneeze or not, produced by Svartis.

At the big dragon's offer, he considered.

"Okay!" he decided--but not before plodding over to the mouse carcass, oblivious to his "dad's" sneezing, to eat it.

It was very unlikely that Blight would, in fact, be able to pick up frosty magic too quickly, if at all; his power was oriented to prokaryote, and perhaps shadow, for now. But his enthusiasm was real, at least, and he toddled up to Svartis with clumsy wing-walking, mouse remains in his jaws, and sat awkwardly before him. After gulping down the last of the heavy (for the baby, at least) meal, he looked up, waiting, attentive and bright-eyed.

@Svartis

Svartis did not, in fact, think through any way that he could help a dragon specialized in... sick to conjure up ice and snow. It'd come naturally to him, just as much as his inclination for cooler caves and tunnels. Almost as smoothly as breathing, even.

Nictitating membrane swiping over his eyes, the black dragon flared out his fins, "I just think of cold and -" with no less than theatric flare, he tossed his head up. Jaws cracked open to the air, he blew out a (much quieter than before) stream of snow. "There!" he crowed, watching the flakes swirl through the air, melting before they even came close to hitting the ground.

Settling back down, he stared at Blight. Svartis tilted his head slightly, "it might be like your sick, but - cold. Snowy! Icy!"

@Blight

So Blight's sojourn into caves unknown had brought him to this point: sitting attentively before a sneezing black dragon a hundred times his size, watching closely as the larger dragon essentially vomited snow.

He watched. He sat, coiled plump and tiny, that permanent grin twisting up his features as bright green-glowing eyes blinked.

He observed the drift of flakes spinning and melting in the air.

And when it was his turn, Blight concentrated, opening his own jaws, thinking about his magicka, his butter jade flickering green.

And, quietly, he burped.

Paused.

Considered... sniffing the air.

"Not snow," he informed Svartis, matter-of-factly.

@Svartis

There it was, a bit of magic from a well-fed, contended baby and - "not snow," Svartis agreed with a bob of his head and neck. His wings rustled against either flank as he settled them closer, resting his chin on the palm of one.

Maybe... "is sick invisible?"

I mean... it'd passed from the mouse to him, even with that tiny little sample he'd bit out of the fuzzy lump. As if his body was reminded by that train of thought, his eyes watered and he sniffled through another sneeze.

@Blight

Svartis' sneeze sent Blight into another round of hysterical giggles, the hatchling leaping into the air and spinning there with flaps of his little wings.

Then he turned, lowering himself down again, and yawning--tiring, perhaps, from all the excitement--but looked to Svartis again. Again, he tried to summon up snow which--wouldn't work; but perhaps he'd make something else, quite by accident.

What he coughed up definitely wasn't snow. It wasn't even visible, and he stared, perma-smiling, at nothing.

Blight looked to the black dragon afterward with a squint. "Show again?" he requested, and then--as if remembering some long-ago tidbit of conversation--"What is Dad-Dad like?"

@Svartis

If there was one thing about Blight, it was that the little lad was easy to amuse. To be fair, there was nothing funnier than a burp, fart, et cetera, et cetera. Boys'll be boys. Svartis huffed in amusement as the dragonet pinwheeled about, taking a pause just to wipe his snout on his palm and lie back down.

Blight hacked up maybe a bit of spit into the air, and asked him again to demonstrate. There was no reason not to oblige, though he did with much less dramatic flair than before. All he did was inhale deeply and send a shower of snow across the stone, making a thin sheet of ice immediately in front of him. Just enough to get the demonstration done and over with.

"What is Dad-Dad like?"

Svartis rolled a shoulder up to rub against an itch behind his horns, and hummed, "loud, but warm. He lives in the windy room over there," (indicate indicate) "and breathes fire at anyone that invades. He has a big pile of sparkly stuff that he protects - and some of my stuff too. Dad-Dad's nice, though! He'd like you, I think!"

Now there's an idea...

@Blight

Blight very clearly delighted in the display, unenthusiastic as it may have been, squealing and flapping back excitedly. It took a moment for this round of giggles to wear off.

Warm, and loud? Blight thought about this, and then, at length, fixed Svartis with a knowing expression. He then spoke, magnanimously: "You can still be my real dad," he informed the black dragon.

And then, after another moment's thought: "Can I meet Dad-Dad? I have--have not!--seen a windy room!" The brief pause for correcting his own confused, childish wording gave way to an excited, hopeful peer, despite the little dragon's obviously-encroaching weariness: he yawned again, large, tiny needle-teeth glinting in Orion's dim light.

@Svartis

Svartis's heart might very well be made of ice, and some of it melted for some odd reason at the sincerity in Blight's little voice. His brain may as well have just keeled over, and he nodded mutely. Finally, he mustered an "I'm honored."

Blight was clearly struggling to stave off his tiredness, and that was so endearing, too. His enthusiasm would lose soon enough, but Svartis could dance along. "I'm sure you can, but -" and here came his first attempt at a dadly voice, low and teasing, "are you sure you'll make it? You're looking awfully sleepy now that you're full of food."

Strange how baby-talking came so naturally.

@Blight

He squinted up earnestly, and at the teasing challenge blinked, puffing himself up and trying, pridefully, to not fall asleep.

He bobbed, blinking, and stifled a yawn.

"NO," he assured Svartis, and then hesitated as he realized he'd forgot the wording of the question. "-Yes! -I won't fall asleep!" he insisted.

He remembered, then, that Svartis had offered to carry him before, and so he paused, with a child's questionable cunning. "...But can you carry me?" he asked, his tone plaintive.

Obviously, that wasn't related to his being tired, at all.

@Svartis

The dragonet could try his darndest to outrun it, but sleep was going to catch up to him. His insistent voice (like everything else, Svartis admitted to himself) was nearly too much to handle.

He unfurled from himself, rocking up slowly with a nod, "alright, bud." Svartis gave a conspiratorial wink for whatever-odd reason, "you give your wings a rest."

Then... he realized he wasn't sure how to carry a baby. Svartis thought about the way lessers might pick up their cubs, but somehow he thought that scruffing wasn't ideal. Instead, he offered an awkward wing, offering it for the dragonet to clamber onto and get himself situated by... grabbing anything, really.

Once all was said and done, the dragon took a few loping steps forwards, and ascended.

exit svartis, unless stopped
@Blight