Ursa had been bitter—more so than it remembered. The icy cold seeped into its limbs, threatening to freeze its joints at the socket. (It wasn't hard to imagine that this was an effect of all its lost weight.)

More than once, it'd lost its sense of direction and was forced to hunker down in the drifts until the white-outs broke. As soon as the howling gales settled into a rousing breeze, the monstrous hybrid would struggle up to its feet and hobble on. First, it was towards the twin mountains—then, straight away from them. After what felt like days, Alpha broke into the stifling humidity of the tunnel, and then Leo at large.

It hadn't been long since it last was here; Chaos-Two and the Sentinel had been with it, then, and the former had pried. Putrescent eyes narrowed at the memory, a sickening sort of feeling rising in its throat. It'd noticed, and it had failed to hide its weakness, even then. Vargas had seen, and it'd run. Attikias—well-intentioned as he'd been—had witnessed, and it'd run.

When had it decided to just run from everything?

Alpha still felt sick from that fish.

It padded along the fringe of the beach, hardly noticing the cool wash of the tide rolling in and out. Its attention was fixed on the horizon for a while, and then the greenery, and back again. Every movement set it on edge, but it was—... well, it was too tired to cast out the magic needed to confirm. If it had spent days in Ursa, then it was running on absolute empty.

Head hanging low, it looked every direction except for up. It meandered toward the water and, after a time, found itself facing the ocean entirely.

Hooked claws came to a halt in the sand. Wait. Its eyes narrowed in contemplation. A glance was spared over its shoulder. He can't follow— no, no, the labradorite could— it could take that one on— Gills flared reflexively as it crouched shakily in the surf, the soothing cool water instantly refreshing them. Alpha cough-wheezed at the sensation, and launched up to its feet, scuttling a foot or so away.

How deep does it go? it wondered while it nearly toppled on its side.

@Dread

Soar.

A single bass wingbeat, lost to the wind.

Eyes slipping closed, the sensation of light and warmth playing over his scales.

The updraft beneath his wings, billowing him skyward, and with it his heart lifting. Freedom. Contentment. Around him wheeled the seabirds. Behind him, sheltered, grew the chrysalises. No one challenged him, bothered him, harassed him.

Life was good.

Dread opened his eyes, glancing peacefully downward, and almost fell out of the sky--so startled was he at the shape below that for a moment he forgot the sweep of his own wings. He caught himself, choked on his first attempt at a roar, and then inhaled, immediately curving in his flight, wings half-folding and then snapping out to bring him in a swift approach toward the distant shape below.

The sound of his roar was sky-shattering, as loud as he could make it, a screeching bellow of a challenge that rang across Leo's light-dazzled waves. The white birds escorting him (hoping for scraps, which he occasionally gave them) scattered before rejoining him at a greater distance.

The roar was an announcement as much as a challenge: a warning, a bellow of 'I am coming.' He settled into his dive toward Orthoclase-Alpha: and it was the Alpha, it was the thing he'd fought in Canis, that he'd chased from Orion with Bone at his side. Memories of Svartis lying wounded rippled through his mind, and a guttural growl followed, but for now he pulled up short. Spined tail slipped down and forward, then curved back, as he settled into a vertical hover some forty feet up, staring down with emberglow eyes.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" he shouted--as much confusion and unhappiness as demand. He remembered, perhaps too late, that Vargas was this one's ally; his gaze cut around for a moment, but he saw no sign of the big purple one. Had this one learned the magic needed to take control of his body? He didn't know, but he tensed at the possibility.

The dragon was not hostile--not yet--but he couldn't see why this one was here. Perhaps it was only passing through; if this were the case, Dread judged it best to leave it be. Hell, he had no real reason to bother himself with it anyway--so long as it wasn't here to mess with him. Or his chrysalises. Or his nest. ...His shinies, his treasures, Haven, her nest, or anything else in Dread's cave.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Orthoclase-Alpha's body lurched into reflexive action before it had the chance to fully parse the roaring silhouette. Quills flared more out of shock than defense, and rattled weakly while it straightened and shuffled backwards. Away from the sound, onto the defensive—

... so it thought. Even with the dragon—Dread, was it? Yes—hovering at a distance, it crouched lower. The points of its mane shuffled into uncertain flatness. Putrescent eyes lit up in a wild sort of frenzy. Its head shifted minutely in either direction, peering far into its periphery; its gaze settled back on the water and the dark, sleek beast above it. That was where it needed to go, then... ? Yet, he was in the way.

He was in the way and making a singular demand, for a singular answer.

Its throat ran dry at first, instinct (in a metaphorical sense) driving its nose into the mud for ignoring authority. Huffing shortly, the monster broke into a short, weak hiss. Wobbly limbs arranged themselves to stand underneath it, before involuntarily buckling into a deeper crouch than before. It shifted its haunches, muscles screaming protest at the mere thought of any more heavy exertion. A weak grab at magic had a spark or two leaping from its hide.

Alpha swallowed down bile and roared back, but it was absolutely pathetic in comparison, "leave me alone." There was no please or bid for its life, even though it knew that it could easily fall to the dragon—it had been outmatched before, in its prime.

Claws thumbed through the sand, and wide eyes stared holes through Dread.

@Dread

Dread stared down.

His question had not been answered, and for once he felt a crystalline clarity. He did not know Orthoclase well enough to recognize changes such as weakness, though its stumble did make him wonder if it were lost and starving, somehow. Wounded. But a change? That, he didn't know about. If it were different than usual, he was none the wiser. But he knew he hadn't been answered, and he knew he wanted an answer.

Ember eyes narrowed, and smoke twinned up from his nostrils as he responded. And instead of a screech, his voice was a low and steady boom--not a demand, a challenge, a beast's territorial shriek, no. It was the true threat of a parent with young--a side of Dread that rarely reared its head. A side that only Orthoclase, of all those in the caves, had ever really seen before.

Dread stared at the beast below. It was sparking with electricity. It was challenging his words. He wanted the following clear. His magicka flared in turn, invisible, silent.

"I HAVE CHILDREN," the dragon rumbled, his voice carrying but deeply bass, and with it came his magic, his power. Memories of flame. The flash of fangs, of claws, the thunder of dragon's wings. The promise of flame and of death, and the terror of a predator in the dark, inexorable, inevitable... "THERE ARE OTHERS HERE... I AM PROTECTING."

Dread paused, as if to let this sink in, and then repeated, more slowly this time--more menacingly: "WHY ARE YOU HERE?" The magicka surged, a promise of death in it: he held others here he would defend.

Was the Orthoclase a threat?

@Orthoclase-Alpha

"I HAVE CHILDREN," Dread said, as if the monstrous thing did not know this—but, of course, he was clarifying what sort of position he was in. With it, the involuntary lapse into fear. Its breathing quickened, quills twitching. The whole of its body shuddered and spasmed once; it was racked by the phantom pain of fire along its hide. Wide eyes shot to the right, where it swore it saw a glimpse of purple down the beach. "THERE ARE OTHERS HERE..." Wait— "I AM PROTECTING."

Here's the kicker question, again: "WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

It did not want to answer that.

The orthoclase pressed itself into the sand, mane shifting to total smoothness.

Attikias came up to its upper arm, but he was slim-figured and boasted no natural weaponry; all of his assault was through extensions of himself, and they did not have lethal, cutting edges. The humanoid was not a massive, fire-breathing dragon capable of many forms of assault. It could run from the former, but not the latter. Attacking back would have been effective against one, but not the other. Dread would easily snuff it out.

It did not want to answer that.

Bile burned hot in its throat, nausea stirred from its simmer by its terror.

"Please don't—" it started, and thank the Creator (or whoever was out there) its voice died out like a shorted-out radio. Coward. There was too much wavering; it couldn't take a white-knuckle grip on the sand. It felt exposed (which, it was) and—it didn't want to answer that.

Perhaps, Hemlocke or the desert rose would have taken advantage of the situation: they would've swallowed down their pride, played the part of woe-is-me victim, edged themselves into protection with powerful allies. Alpha would rather feel one's teeth crushing its windpipe than walk that path.

The exposed flesh of its muzzle crumpled, a misshapen sort of snarl—or was that a cringe? Pain? Sadness? Fear? Its eyes burned—but it refused to allow that to spill over. Exhaustion was not the reason behind that. I don't want to die, I need to say someth—

"I don't know," Alpha spat into the sand reflexively, and nearly stumbled to be fully on its ass. The backtracking was immediate: it shook its head, taking a whistling breath through its broken nose, "not—not to attack." Its voice crackled like it were coming from an antique stereo, and was impossibly hoarse with disuse. "I'm going... somewhere."

... at least that was true.

@Dread

Dread observed. He saw the cringe, the snarl, the body flattened to the sand; he saw the quills flattening down, the claws clenching at the sand.

Had he known Orthoclase-Alpha well, he might have seen pain in it. But he did not, and given the situation, he could perhaps have been forgiven for interpreting it as fear, as submission.

It gave him three key pieces of information: first, it did not want him to... do... something. This was probably important, but Dread assumed that it meant "attack," as in, "please don't attack." Second, it wasn't planning to attack, either and third, it was passing through, heading to somewhere else.

Ember eyes narrowed, smoke pluming up from his nostrils again with a sharp exhale, then fading. It could all be a trick--an act--and he remained a little tensed just in case. "GOOD," he rumbled, and his voice bled back toward its usual, higher-pitched "conversational" tone. Still beating his wings heavily to remain hovering, he glanced down the beach, the way that Alpha had come--then back to the creature below him. "AND THE PURPLE ONE-? IS IT COMING?" Then, a reconsideration--a more important phrasing of the question. "ARE YOU ALONE?"

If there were more of them coming--if he or his nest might be in danger--he wanted to know. Never mind that Alpha had no reason to tell him; no reason not to lie. Dread was a little gullible, like that.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Atrophied and sore limbs tensed at the smoke twining out of Dread's nostrils—it was unsure if that was telegraphing of an attack. It was unsure if its answer had been satisfactory. It was unsure if it was going to live. A conversational "GOOD" was not enough to assuage this fear. The orthoclase forced itself to its feet, if only to lumber further down the shore, further out of reach.

A pathetic little grab for safety, it knows.

The dragon looked down the other end of the beach, and (unintentionally) sent another pang of nausea roiling through its gut. Alpha's head whirled to stare at whence it came. It puffed like a sea urchin; but, that was a passing expression. Not even a second later, and its mane was smooth again, and it was staring back at Dread.

It made to say, "I... don't know—" but he had already rephrased, and—"ARE YOU ALONE?"

In the most practical sense, it was; so, it answered a short affirmative, "yes." In... other senses, it wasn't... quite so sure. Mere seconds' thought was all it needed to know that it shouldn't think about that here and now. Yet another mental tar pit to avoid.

(Giving the subject a wide berth was not shooing away the more persistent parts of it.)

Alpha shifted its weight to either foot, taking to a wary slump. Quills bristled half-heartedly, and it glanced across the horizon. The nearest tunnel was so far out of reach, it thought, and—it could not cross that distance, by land or sea, without needing to sleep. Never mind its malnourishment and resulting illness—all it needed was to sleep and keep moving.

Slowly, carefully, uncertainly, it rasped, "I... need to sleep—before I go." It sounded more like a question than the statement it intended; which, it was an unconscious bid for permission. And, even if it was sure to be an unsuccessful activity, "and hunt."

@Dread

It took him this long--watching Alpha's gait, and slump--to pick up on the fact that something was not quite right. For a moment his fins pricked higher, the spines rising as if to mirror Orthoclase's ruffled quills. When Alpha's lowered, so did Dread's, albeit more slowly and more warily. (Had that been an almost-attack?)

It didn't sound certain, and so Dread turned and looked down the beach again, staring. He saw no sign of Vargas--not that he was all that worried, but he'd have to use caution and keep his distance, now. In any case--was Orthoclase-Alpha wanting fish, or meat? Dread studied it. He did not want it close to his nest, but somehow it didn't exactly strike him as a swimmer. "THERE ARE DEER IN THE TREES. AND RATS, SOMETIMES." Were those big enough for the--the... the thing? He didn't know, for sure. In any case, those things were away from his island. From his growing children.

-Ah, but then a second idea struck him. Cunning flickered through him.

"I KNOW THE CAVE. IF YOU GIVE ME A SHINY, I WILL BRING YOU FOOD. OR GUARD YOU." He'd offered this to Haven, and she'd accepted. It seemed a good way to nullify enemies, and to get shiny objects at the same time.

Dread shook himself mid-air, dipping a little lower before rising higher again, fins rattling. He seemed less concerned, now, at least. Hell, maybe if it were sick--it kind of looked sick--it would need help more than once. And that might lead to even more bits of shiny object.

Of course, it didn't seem to have any on it now. "THERE ARE SHINIES IN THE VOLCANO PLACE." There. How helpful. Wait--damn! Now he'd told it where all the treasure was. But-... Well, he didn't really want to leave the nest out of sight, right now, either.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Deer and rats—of course. Both things that required a chase, or the ability to cast magic beyond itself, or... well, luck.

Startlingly, the monstrous hybrid tried to remain optimistic. The cover of Leo was denser than Pegasus's; its mobility could be stifled, as well as its prey's. It nodded in distant acknowledgement of Dread before fixing its gaze back on the ocean's surface. Surely, there were fish beneath the waves—

"... I WILL BRING YOU FOOD. OR GUARD YOU."

Intrinsically, it knew that such a thing was a solid deal; yet, it couldn't fully shrug off its instinctive response to offered assistance. Worn-down as it was, it mustered the wherewithal to be affronted. Quills quivered, and it shook where it stood. What should've been a harsh gaze fell into flat disdain, and it shook its head in a single jerk.

It started—"I don't,"—and stopped.

A whistling sigh escaped from its nose.

"I... won't be here long," it hoped, "just—just a while." Just for a few days.

Hostile as their phrasing was, its next words were tired, nearly pleading. "I don't need anything... from you."

Teeth click!ed shut as soon as the punctuation landed—it sounded pathetic.

@Dread

Dread stared down, interest rapidly dwindling. He was not the sort to force conversation, or even to seek it out. And he was not an empathetic creature capable of accurately reading others. He was a little annoyed that Orthoclase-Alpha wasn't taking his deal (as in: giving him shinies) but as long as it wasn't a threat, he didn't particularly care.

It was saying it wouldn't be there long. Just a little while. To Dread, this meant hours; but--"I DON'T CARE," he boomed, and whether that was reassurance, or dismissal, wasn't entirely clear. It was utterly toneless.

He considered, for a moment, studying the hapless creature below. Then he glanced back toward his island.
"I LIVE ON THAT TALL ISLAND THERE. DON'T COME NEAR MY STUFF. OR MY EGGS. BUT IF YOU DECIDE YOU WANT TO TRADE YELL NEAR IT AND I WILL HEAR YOU. AND TRADE." Dread looked back to Alpha, offer laid out, and again eyed it over.

Its tone seemed... strange, and after a moment's thought he thought he recognized in it something of the... disappointment? His children had shown when, for example, he hadn't let Bug dive directly into the Twister on day two after hatching. "ARE YOU SAD?" he demanded, and it was a blunt question--not one asked with concern, but there was no mockery in it, either. Just a vague, distant sort of curiosity.

@Orthoclase-Alpha