#thread: (pounce bryn)

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince - [Prior]

This was not Ul’dah, the merchants they would speak too would be those of Revenant’s Toll, already well knowing of the scaled fool’s penchant for lacking cloth or interest in the chill. They would know him for blades of teeth and friendly laughter with hatchlings. He was no ‘sunblinked mind’ of a ‘foreign Au Ra’ like when they had first arrived in The Source. Again the hand was waved, claws tapping against the metal of wolfish decorations, and the lizard made for that plumed mount as ever before, apparently no qualms to the idea of heading to market despite his vocal distaste.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was still chewing the jerky when that blue tongue stuck out teasingly, and he snorted in response to it, finishing off the food as he glanced towards Featherflame, at least until there was a disgruntled noise, and Whillow spoke.

The way he clipped "market", the roll of his eyes, it was clear he didn't approve of it, or liked it. Bryn had half a mind to ask why, but it was answered before he could, his lips twitching slightly at the mention of smells, sounds, and lies. Maybe he thought bartering was lying? Or truly believed the vendors were hiding something. Dull teeth... Wonder if I'm in that group.

He placed a hand on Featherflame, watching the little gecko cross his arms, slap that tail, and assume a disgruntled air. As if in memory. Which made Bryn's mind wander too.

He remembered the first time he had held a coin purse, felt the weight of gil in his hand and...nearly salivated over it. Growing up poor, with barely enough to survive when he was too weak to provide for himself, had left him with an odd sense of money. For a long time, he spent every gil he had, the salary he made with the Maelstrom flying out of his fist as soon as it hit it. And it took years, years of learning, of finally coming to grips with having gil - and a healthy dose of lectures from an Elezen friend - before he actually kept a surplus. Tucked away, hidden, in case of emergency.

The chuff of air, the narrowing of silver eyes, it made Bryn refocus, come out of the trance of memory just in time for the wave of clawed hands, and the press of one to his belly. His eyes flicked down, to the touch, wondering what it was for, or, wondering if it was to check his fullness. Could the little dragon know that just from a touch?

Although, the declaration of not needing gil did raise the question of who, or how, Whillow got food, or cloth - Oh, right. He didn't wear clothes. And with his natural hunting ability, perhaps he didn't actually need the market.

The other half though... He frowned, deeply, his eyes flickering a deeper silver, an angry silver, as he growled under his breath, shaking his head. "Anyone gives you a look like you are property, let me know. I will be happy to remind them that you are off limits."

It was with that thought in his mind that he swung himself onto Featherflame, lost in thought as he situated himself, waited for Whillow to mount as well, and then head off.

And of course, Whillow made sure the ride back was...as interesting as the one out. With a slightly flushed face, Bryn was petting Featherflame, already off her and draping her reigns over the hitching post, a few tied chocobo giving the red one envious looks as she preened like she was better than everyone else, and once he was certain she was situated, he was moving, heading towards the market and trusting the absolute tease of a dragon would follow.

The first of three stops was simple: selling the dragon teeth. The teeth themselves were not what drew a bounty, but the proof that the dragon's they once belonged to were dead. Handing them over to a specialty merchant who, after a brief description of where he could find the carcasses to collect any materials he might need, handed back two bags of gil (one decidedly larger than the other), and Bryn turned back with both, ready to split and give half to Whillow, only to be reminded by the gecko's acute lack of interest in what he was doing that he did not care for the coin of Eorzea.

Looking between the sizeable amount they had both just earned, he pocketed them, and then fixed Whillow with a stare, rumbling out as he moved towards the next stall he would call on. "Tell me, if you do not want coin, then what would you prefer instead? You helped bring down one of the dragons, and that means you deserve a payment beyond just your meal. So, by the time we leave the market, tell me what you would like, and I will give it to you." Nodding, he moved on, content to let the little lizard think on what he wanted his prize to be.

It was, in all aspects, a short trip to the market, Bryn swinging by two well known stalls to pick up a set of darker clothes, a coat similar to the one he wore, but in a deeper, darker black, forgoing a new shirt since the navy blue was perfect for the dark of night. However, if he was to truly hide...

For a few minutes, he was haggling, going back and forth with the stall owner over a thick, wide, well cut pelt of ink black fur. It was easily three times the size of the Hyur, clearly meant for a large bed, and the price for it was not cheap. But it was worth it, he figured, for the temporary use, and for cold nights on the road.

He finally got the vendor to agree to a more reasonable price, and he collected the large pelt, rolled nicely, after handing over the necessary coin, humming softly as he turned back to find out where, and what, the little dragon was doing in the place he clearly did not enjoy.

[eeveevie]

“Don’t EVER do that again” for Brynjolf x Fiona if you’re taking ficlet prompts :D

A nightmare, a break-in and an abundance of emotions. Fiona says “I love you” for the first time. 

(congratulations anon, you win the prize for “prompt that got crab to write fiona’s confession on love”. it did not start that way, but here we are !)

Brynjolf x Fiona 💗🗡

1851 words (under a cut for length) | Ao3

“I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.”

Mercer’s wicked, self-satisfied grin was all too clear, even through the haze of the poison racing through her veins. He crouched over her paralyzed body and peered down at her with that golden longsword drawn, brimming with magical energy. He wasn’t hesitating, no, he was watching her squirm—the sick bastard.  

She felt a crash of emotions—but at the forefront of her mind was the regret she’d be taking to her grave—she thought of Brynjolf one last time as the blade sliced against her throat and then—nothing.

Only darkness.

Fiona sprang out from her bedsheets with a startling gasp, her throat tight and heart racing as if it would beat right out of her chest. The scar along the right side of her neck burned and she instinctively reached up to feel at it, almost expecting to feel the sticky touch of blood, but there was nothing. The skin was still incredibly sensitive, the jagged lines far from fading away—she would wear the mark Mercer left for the rest of her days. She inhaled deeply, desperately trying to steady her breathing but couldn’t shake the nightmare away.

She glanced to the empty void next to her and frowned, reminding herself she had no reason to be upset. Since her and Karliah’s return to Riften, Brynjolf had on more than one occasion stayed the night for protection—not that Fiona really needed it, but she had welcomed his company and comfort. Their relationship was different now—yet to have a definition, but it was obvious they were now far from being the just friends from before. If they ever really were “just friends” to begin with. In that moment, her mind still hazy with the memory of Snowveil Sanctum, she found her heart aching for Brynjolf, wishing he was there to sooth the pain away. He was one of the few people that truly understood.  

The only reason he wasn’t there that evening was because he was chasing a lead with Delvin, hoping to corner one of Mercer’s contacts in Shor’s Stone for information, wanting to confirm what they had found in Riftweald Manor. Karliah was also away, busy making some kind of preparations that would eventually involve both Fiona and Brynjolf—only time would tell.

Just as Fiona resigned to settle back against the pillows, she heard a rustling at her front door, the eastern entrance. She froze in her spot, listening intently as the scratching continued—was it an animal? The doorknob wiggled as she realized someone was attempting to wiggle the lock lose. Her chest tightened with a new wave of fright, even as she convinced herself that nobody was that stupid to break into the Dragonborn’s homestead. Even Mercer.

The thought of his name made her skin crawl and had her jumping from her bed and grabbing her dagger from her nightstand, silently but swiftly stepping towards the door. Just as she made it to the frame the sounds stopped and all fell silent, but only for a moment. The next sound Fiona heard was creaking, footsteps across her roof. Panic began to coarse through her and for a split second she thought about shouting through the ceiling, not caring about the destruction it would cause. She followed the sounds with her eyes, slowly crossing the floor towards the balcony doors, avoiding the shadows the fireplace cast against the windows on the western wall.  

Whoever it was had landed on the balcony with a muffled grunt—clearly not the most experienced sneak thief—but it didn’t give her any pause. She stood next to the doorway with her back flat to the wooden paneling as the intruder finessed the lock, this time having easier luck. Her hands shook as she clutched the hilt of her dagger tight, scolding herself for not changing the locks like she said she would. She closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer to the Divines as the door slowly creaked open, a shadowy crouched form creeping in through the night.

Fiona pounced immediately, yelling out in a mix of fear and anger, their bodies colliding against the door and slamming it shut. She swung her fist out first, knuckles colliding with the jaw of the trespasser before her other arm arced down, dagger ready to strike. Two hands caught her wrists, stopping her movements completely. The larger body moved to stand, jerking her closer.  

“Augh! Fiona!” A familiar voice. “It’s me!”

“Bryn?” she whispered, blinking in an effort to see his face in the darkness.

He pulled one hand away to yank back his hood, confirming that it really was him. An overwhelming abundance of emotions flooded over her at the sight of his face and her chest contracted tightly, breath hitching in her throat. Before she even realized what was happening tears were clouding her vision, quickly pouring over to slide down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as she dropped her weapon to the floor, her other hand gripping his shoulder tightly when her knees threatened to buckle from beneath her.

“I’ve got you,” Brynjolf murmured, his arms swiftly moving to scoop her up and hold her steady against him.

At first she clutched him in a desperate hug, thankful he was there—but she was so overwhelmed, self-conscious and unsure of where her more vulnerable emotions had come from. Yes, he had seen her cry before, but that didn’t mean that she felt completely comfortable shedding them in front of him. Still, she held onto him tightly, face buried in the curve of his shoulder as she openly sobbed.

“I—I had a nightmare,” she wept. Brynjolf’s arms tugged her closer, his nose nuzzling against the top of her head. “It was Mercer, at Snowveil Sanctum. When I heard the noises at the door I thought—I thought he had—”  

His arms tensed at her words and she could tell he was already feeling remorse. Still, she smacked her palm against his chest, gripping the leather of his armor to shake him slightly. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Aye lass,” he hushed against her temple, hands caressing down her back and through her hair. “If I have to spend the rest of my days begging for forgiveness, I will—”

“You better,” she agreed, failing miserably at a tease. They stood there for a long while, just holding each other close until her tears subsided, body relaxing against his. It was a forgone conclusion, but she really hoped that he was there to stay for the evening. She didn’t want to assume anything, even now.  

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her face, humming as he spoke. “What do you say lass, could you ever forgive a fool like me?”

“You are so lucky that I love you,” she sighed.

Fiona froze in his embrace, realizing that she had said the words out loud.

Brynjolf’s arms tightened around her before relaxing, his soft laugh tickling the side of her face. “What was that?”

Fiona burrowed her face against his shoulder, feeling her whole body warm in embarrassment. “Nothing,” she said meekly, but it was of no use.

He carefully peeled her off of his chest and she reluctantly glanced up to meet his gaze. She had expected to find a teasing expression but instead she found him looking at her in a state of wonder, eyes sparkling, and lips slowly stretching into a wide grin. Even in the dimly lit room, she could see his own flushed cheeks—her sudden confession had surprised him as much as it had her.

“You love me?”

Fiona released a shaky breath, nodding once. “Yes.”

Brynjolf steadily brushed back the hair from her face before framing his hands against her cheeks, fingers curling against the back of her neck to tilt her head closer to his. His initial kiss was slow, tongue gently coaxing her lips apart, it gradually deepening. One of his hands threaded through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he shifted closer, Fiona eagerly meeting him as she slid her arms around his shoulders. Gods, she never wanted him to stop kissing her, even if it meant she would die of suffocation.

He eventually did pull away, albeit slowly, almost reluctantly. Fiona found herself exhaling in a short gasp, breathless. Brynjolf was still smiling, expression delirious as if he had been drinking mead from her lips. It was irresistible—she closed the gap once more for a swift series of kisses that trailed from his mouth along his jaw and to the collar of his armored coat. Finally she pulled away, copying his grin with one of her own. Even so, she could still feel the flush of heat on her face and the rapid thump of her heart beating against her ribs.

“Please say it again,” he breathed, green eyes shimmering with an emotion she hadn’t seen before—almost like a brand-new form of excitement.

Fiona nodded, nuzzling her cheek against his hand as his thumb brushed along her jawline in an affectionate sweep. “If you’ll stay.”

“If I’ll stay she asks—of course I’m staying,” he remarked with a chuckle. “That is, only if you give me a key. Can only stop breaking in someplace if I have a key, lass.”

She laughed, turning her head once more to kiss his palm and the inside of his wrist. With another nod of her head she reluctantly pulled herself away from his embrace if only to move to her desk where she kept a strongbox of valuables. Within she found the spare key for Honeyside, a small blue ribbon tied to the end—something she had been meaning to give to him for a while now. The timing seemed perfect with her confession of the heart. When Fiona turned to face him she found him tossing his discarded coat across the nearby chair, untucking his cotton undershirt from his pants.

“Don’t lose this,” she instructed, tucking the golden metal into his palm. “You won’t be getting another.”

Brynjolf nodded, covering her hand with his. “Consider this my most prized possession. Well, next to you…” His sly smirk faltered. “Not that I see you as something to be possessed—”

“Bryn,” she cut him off, leaning in to place a gentle kiss to his lips. “Its alright to say. I’m yours.” She caught his gaze and felt her heart flutter, a warmth radiate across her body and tingle run across her spine. “I love you.”

Two times. Progress.

“One more time?” he asked tentatively.

Fiona first ensured the key was safely slipped away in his coat before she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him sweetly and softly in the perfect way she adored. He kissed her back, two passionate kisses in quick succession. With another she broke away with the softest of whispers, “I love you.”

Without realizing she had been waiting her whole life to feel this way. She was in love and had no reason to be afraid anymore.

leave a tumblr kudos 💙🦀

[13th-dragon-prince]

musesofawolf - [prior]

"Whillow, has anyone taken you to the market?" Bryn had two fangs of deadly beasts that he could turn in, two trophies to earn a fair sum of gil, gil he could use to entice the little lizard into learning about trade and bartering. Skills he doubted the kill-first-ask-questions-later lizard knew how to use. Plus, he could buy some things for the evening. A better coat, darker, and something to hide my scent. He had no idea if Whillow could smell him, or if he could track a prey by aether alone, but if he was going to hunt and be hunted, he'd take any upper hand he could get. "I wouldn't mind turning in our hunt, getting a bit of gil and spending it. I think half for each of us is fair?"

A blue tongue pushed past his lips in playful mockery at his companion’s note of being looked after - true enough, but it took the edge of the game away when friends were regulated to ‘obligation’. Far more fun to think them as chaotic as he.

Wide eyes blinked a few times as he saw the sudden bulbed-idea come across Bryn’s face, speaking the idea of trading hunt-for-coin, and in a heartbeat the lizard’s expression soured, lips pulled as a disgruntled ‘baah’ left him, hands placed to his hips as any unruly discontent.

“Markt-” Dropped syllable conveyed that lack of interest as eyes were rolled. “Loud. Smelly. Full of stares, dull teeth hiding lies.”

Those scaled arms crossed now as he huffed, ears wiggling a bit in time with the tip of that languishing tail slapping against the ground. He didn’t enjoy the stalls of wares or the people who ran them. Eljth had long attempted to give him a proper run-down on how Eorzea’s system of governance worked, with barter only in the wealth of Gil (Not the rabbit he knew which confused him for awhile). It was so much work for such little reward.

Easier to offer trade in equal terms - a favor for a victor, food for the winners. Then it was one’s own abilities that mattered, not pockets of metal.

‘And what of those who can’t fight? Wouldn’t they starve?’

Silver almonds narrowed to slits. A chuff of air through his nose.

‘You didn’t like being at the bottom - Gil is equal to all.’

Though Brynhorn couldn’t hear the internal memory, the gecko replied all the same; waving his hands with that same ‘baah’ exhaled as he stepped forward to place a hand against the Hyur’s stomach as if testing the paltry rations had quelled the hints of hunger.

“Whillow does not need Gil. Stares assume Whillow in trade with coin.”

This was not Ul’dah, the merchants they would speak too would be those of Revenant’s Toll, already well knowing of the scaled fool’s penchant for lacking cloth or interest in the chill. They would know him for blades of teeth and friendly laughter with hatchlings. He was no ‘sunblinked mind’ of a ‘foreign Au Ra’ like when they had first arrived in The Source.

Again the hand was waved, claws tapping against the metal of wolfish decorations, and the lizard made for that plumed mount as ever before, apparently no qualms to the idea of heading to market despite his vocal distaste.

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Until Eljth learned the game that is. Pointed ears wiggled as the lizard swayed some with that ever flip-flopping docile mischievousness. A curious point to his reflection as he stared (squinted) to the sun, recognizing the time as a fair sum until true nightfall. Bryn was Hume. Hyur. He did not consume stone or crystal. Whillow pointed to his companion’s stomach unprompted. “Eat.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was acutely aware of the tail that wrapped around him, already familiar with what it could potentially do, and he had no desire to see who was faster in rending a spine disconnected. The warning was enough, and he saw the recognition of it, that Whillow understood it was just a playful warning, and a small little promise that he could handle the rough housing himself.

It was an effort though to not think about that shiver, the reaction to it, the way it had felt...good with Whillow beneath him. It was that other half of him, the half that craved the hunt he had just teased, and he had to roll his neck, his shoulders, his body to try and pat it down, to get it to stop gnawing at its leash. It wasn't easy, given that the Hyur was teased by a rattling tail, making him question the heritage of the dragon once again. Snake? Or dragon?

At least he got a laugh from Whill, the Hyur now standing as he stretched, rolled his hips once and making sure the unnatural bend had not messed with his mobility, grunting as he found himself actually a bit looser, taking a step, then lifting the opposite knee high, and pleased enough situated himself back onto both feet. He glanced down at Whillow, the little lizard cross legged on the ground, holding his own ankles, and peering back up at him, and speaking words rather ironic to the soldier.

Night was his greatest ally as a scout, but for what he had planned, it was his worst enemy. As the lizard mocked his motions of brushing off, he snorted at the tapping of dark chitin, recognizing and having to admit that yes, the dragon had an advantage at night, one Bryn would sorely lack. But there were other ways to track tricky dragons.

Especially with silver eyes that saw through the dark better than most.

He was whistling for Featherflame as Whillow swayed and cocked his head, looking at Bryn like a curious subject to study as Bryn took a moment to shade his eyes and also glance to the sky, marking the sun, the time, and the time till night, humming softly to himself as Featherflame slowly trotted over and brushed past the-clawed-one before stopping in front of her master. As he petted her beak, the Hyur absently grabbed something from the saddle bag and bit into it, tearing a hunk of dried and salted meat from a rough cut square, right around the same time that Whillow pointed to him and said Eat.

Holding up the jerky, he lifted an eyebrow and rumbled back, "I thought I was looking after you, not the other way around." He took another bite, nonetheless, and continued to make his way through the jerky square as he glanced back towards Mor Dhona, wondering if they should head back, and a sudden idea hit him.

"Whillow, has anyone taken you to the market?" Bryn had two fangs of deadly beasts that he could turn in, two trophies to earn a fair sum of gil, gil he could use to entice the little lizard into learning about trade and bartering. Skills he doubted the kill-first-ask-questions-later lizard knew how to use. Plus, he could buy some things for the evening. A better coat, darker, and something to hide my scent. He had no idea if Whillow could smell him, or if he could track a prey by aether alone, but if he was going to hunt and be hunted, he'd take any upper hand he could get.

"I wouldn't mind turning in our hunt, getting a bit of gil and spending it. I think half for each of us is fair?"

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[prior]

It was deep, animalistic, full of challenge and yet something roiled beneath it, those flashing silver eyes bright as he let the growl vibrate against one of Whillow's ears, slowly pulling back and releasing the little dragon as he breathed out, his voice normal, eyes no longer glowing, and his breath calmed as his legs untangled from Whill's. "First rule of scouting: do not fight what you do not understand. And I, Whilllow, you will not understand until tonight. Because we will train again. But differently." There were things that Bryn could learn from Whillow, and things he could teach the petite dragon. And there was more, more there than he was expecting. His eyes gleamed again, rising slowly from the ground, brushing off his jacket as he rumbled out, "Understood?"

There was no resistance as the gecko had begun to release his friend from that entrapped grip, sleek muscles loose and relaxed in the sense of playful calm - so it was with a sharp yip earned that brought the two to tangle anew, this time the weight of the Hyur pressed hard and fast against his smaller body.

Not Hyur?

A different feeling, a different sense, growled whispers, hunger in silver and flushed heat dark in familiar eyes. An animal in flesh - a beast in bone.

Hands to his throat tight but stable - a warning, a threat, a promise; display of a dominate kindness that gave just as much freedom to the tail that coiled around the opposing waist, ready to squeeze and constrict at the scent of recognized danger, learned danger from the lifetime before-

But none came.

Only the chuffed growl against the shell of a pointed ear, hot heady breath sending shivers across cold skin, drawing away just as quick to the picturesq mockery of normalcy, studied in the glare of the light, studied in the interest of puzzlement of such teasing words.

Slitted eyes widened with that toothy smile at the treat presented. Something new, something different - learning of the secrets of a new friend.

The tip of his tail rattled as a snake with that unspoken excitement, flicking against Brynhorn’s jacket with an audible tap tap tap as the man made to stand, slinking from the appendage to leave it dancing for a mote on the stones.

Blinking, Whillow chittered a rolling laugh as he sat up, crossing his legs to hold thin ankles (tracing the line of heat from the palm before) and cocked his head from side to side for a moment before nodding with an eagerness that only such a strange gecko could.

“Moon’s light covers scales in Comfort.” He spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, nodding as he stood, brushing himself off in a literal mimic of the man before him before resting thin hands on his wide hips as he chuffed, tapping the natural dark of his chitin. “A Game of Shadows? Bryn will Play? Bryn will Hunt?”

Night was something different here than his original world, here, it was a place of stars and obscene light, bright as the dawn to eyes used to blighted dark and obsidian stones; but it was the idea of training - of playing - in that cool clearing beneath the celestial bodies of his new home that reminded the gecko of one of the few childish games he’d ever learned. Of course it was all a trial in the end to learn the skill to ‘hide’ from those rifled hunters, but his small body made him the hardest to ‘seek’.

Until Eljth learned the game that is.

Pointed ears wiggled as the lizard swayed some with that ever flip-flopping docile mischievousness. A curious point to his reflection as he stared (squinted) to the sun, recognizing the time as a fair sum until true nightfall. Bryn was Hume. Hyur. He did not consume stone or crystal.

Whillow pointed to his companion’s stomach unprompted. “Eat.”

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

“Whillow can be tighter.” By the time he spoke, those dark lips were close to that well groomed scruff, hovering a bit as he leaned forward to press a soft peck of a kiss to his friend’s cheek - chuckling at the sound from below him as his tail yoinked him harder to do so. “But training does not snap bone, hrm?” He could see the look of something in the soldier’s eyes, and it was with that blue tongue laid on his lip with a smile that his posture relaxed around his friend, letting him drop from his grip-

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There was more to learn about the little dragon, and Bryn found himself staring as those claws spread, revealed that webbing, and seemed to react oh so sensitively to his touch. He was surprised, had not expected that the claws would have that much feeling in it, the touch on his arms not even drawing a wince of pain as the bruised skin was already healing.

The wiggle atop him was not expected, and his eyes flicked down, up, away, suddenly aware of the position Whillow was in atop him, laughing with Whillow as if it could hide the expression on his face. It didn't, the little half frown, half grin, almost a grimace, as if he was trying to not think of something, which was very hard to do with a tail wrapped around his thigh.

He was not used to this, to this...feeling. And it suddenly got much, much worse.

Resist then, Prey. Unexpected heat, unexpected reaction rose in him, his eyes snapping to Whillow's as his hand darted out, grabbed one of those clawed ankles, his hand tightening around the petite scaled appendage, nails, almost claws, digging at scales as he felt claws around his neck, on his collarbone, not tight but there. He grunted, his eyes flashing, silver eyes glowing, his breath suddenly deep and labored, the feeling of that strong tail around his legs making his teeth grit with some sort of internal conflict.

He felt it, his body arching up, lifted, forced to stare into those eyes that kept drawing closer, his hand tightening around that ankle as he breathed out. "Whillow..." He wasn't in pain. No, he was just uncomfortable, in more ways than one, his eyes growing more and more bright, his breath harder, faster, body shuddering as if something barely controlled was gnashing beneath the surface, trying to get out as he shuddered again with strain.

It wasn't until he reached that peak A that Bryn managed to calm himself slightly, his breath heavy still but his body was calmer, less tensed, relaxing into the bend as he stared right up into those silver slitted eyes, his own still smoldering with that dangerous light as he felt those claws teasing his throat, his own flexibility likely surprising Whillow, but if he had listened closely, he would have heard a pop or two, bones shifting, changing, allowing him to bend more without breaking, those teasing lips and teeth so close...

He wanted to gnash back, to bare his fangs and push back, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Especially not as the little gecko leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

A kiss.

And his face lit up red, his eyes flickered, and the beast within let out a little whimper at the affection and yank of his legs.

The tongue sticking out at him, grinning eyes teasing words, released and-

Bryn twisted, spun, pounced, the little dragon under him in a second, hand around his throat like those claws had squeezed around his, his eyes flaring with that strength of something otherworldly as his legs wrapped around the backs of Whillow's legs, locking them down under him, straddling the little dragon at the waist, one hand around his throat, the other on one clawed hand, his breathing labored and as he leaned down, knowing full well that Whillow still had his tail and one hand free, the growl that rippled from his throat was not Hyur.

It was deep, animalistic, full of challenge and yet something roiled beneath it, those flashing silver eyes bright as he let the growl vibrate against one of Whillow's ears, slowly pulling back and releasing the little dragon as he breathed out, his voice normal, eyes no longer glowing, and his breath calmed as his legs untangled from Whill's. "First rule of scouting: do not fight what you do not understand. And I, Whilllow, you will not understand until tonight. Because we will train again. But differently."

There were things that Bryn could learn from Whillow, and things he could teach the petite dragon. And there was more, more there than he was expecting. His eyes gleamed again, rising slowly from the ground, brushing off his jacket as he rumbled out, "Understood?"

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[prior]

So quick to learn! I mean, not perfect, no, but to get the basic motion like that...what more can he do? Kicks? He shuddered suddenly at the thought of that kick, the dewclaw on those feet turning from a useful tool to deadly weapon when speed and power were put behind it, and he didn't realize his hand had shifted to touch that claw until it was under his fingers, and he trailed a finger over it's curve. "You surprised me, Whill," he admitted, drawing back his hand. "And your instinct to pounce on a fallen enemy was good. If you can help it, when you knock someone down, don't let them get back up. For you it might be...more difficult because of your frame," he admitted begrudgingly, "but if you learn how to grapple...well, I don't think much could stop you."

One might think that being pet like a dog would make someone mad, but on the contrary for that prideful gecko the ruffle brought only a brighter shine to eager silvers, with the second earning a churred rumble as the petite male wiggled atop his friend with a broad smile as the pinned man spoke.

Although at the word ‘hurt’ those pointed ears wiggled and he cocked his head to the side before tapping lightly to the places his punch had connected with (As if tapping bruises would make it better. His heart was there if a little confused.) but Brynhorn didn’t seem to mind so it probably wasn’t broken.

The snap of his attention came at the touch to his dewclaw, blinking as he watched those larger fingers trace the natural curve; the sensation making those raptor like toes to flex and stretch atop him, splaying out the vague webbing that connected the digits before the hand was removed and that lizard’s fleeting focus was brought back at the admittance.

Praise for his pounce made him wiggle again, a chortle of a laugh on his lips as such an instinct was natural, what else would he do? Normally a pounce would be followed by teeth to throat-

Thin brows rose at the challenge of a ‘learning’ to grapple. The man below him hadn’t even seen the La’Mellaen’s attempt for such a thing.

“Resist then, Prey.” Spoken as a playful warning, Whillow’s pupils narrowed as he leaned forward with (vaguely careful) claws pushing down against that dense collarbone with a pressure that slid up to his neck.

It was that tail that served to be the most dangerous appendage - a long scaled tendril of pure muscle that unfurled from the soldier's thigh only to retangle itself around both of his legs and pulling HARD - those hips below him lifted as the man’s spine tried to follow suit as the lizard’s elbows leaned with very potent scales to press into the socket of his shoulders to pinch nerve while he leaned closer, and closer with those taloned legs pushing against the ground as he straddled him - lifting the weight of the man with that tail as if it was nothing, until Whillow was looking down with his own legs bent nearly flat in an A.

A strange position - a far cry from anything someone would naturally teach - but to see a 6’0 Hyur being curled in on himself by the tiny creature that held tight as a python; well it was good the clearing was theirs alone.

So close did the lizard bring them, his claws gliding sharp tips against that supple throat as his own flexibility soon came into play as he pulled the man onward and onward in a test of how much that broad muscle could bend.

“Whillow can be tighter.” By the time he spoke, those dark lips were close to that well groomed scruff, hovering a bit as he leaned forward to press a soft peck of a kiss to his friend’s cheek - chuckling at the sound from below him as his tail yoinked him harder to do so.

“But training does not snap bone, hrm?” He could see the look of something in the soldier’s eyes, and it was with that blue tongue laid on his lip with a smile that his posture relaxed around his friend, letting him drop from his grip-

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[prior]

He took a practice punch, his left fist darting forward, stopping a breath from Whillow's nose, the turn of his hips, his shoulders, his body exaggerated, and the force behind it evident in the way air brushed through the gecko's hair. "I don't have claws. Or sharp teeth. But I have killed with my bare hands." He stepped back, beckoning, calling Whillow forward as he rumbled out, "Again. And this time, twist your body, the same way you are throwing your punch. When I punch back, it won't stop short. So try and block it. I don't want to send you flying again."

Touch against his scales brought the ripple of preparation of that ache again, an uncomfortable tenseness across his body as… his friend steadied him, and spoke, talking in such a way to educate him as an equal.

Not a worthless little beast who’d yet to earn his wings.

Even the critique of his instinctual habits were fairly tame all things considered, comments about just an honest observation that the gecko could only nod and agree with. Yeah; why bother doing anything else when claws and teeth worked just fine?

The blow of power behind that false punch served as an instant answer to that unspoken question, and Whillow found a different kind of shiver cross over his spine - not one of ingrained fear, but one of fun.

Slowly that tail had begun to return to it’s wiggling nature as darting silvers studied the example in his mind’s eye, pointed ears wiggling at the instructions as he looked himself over in some genuine attempt to mimic the unknown.

Which, for a strange dragon-lizard-gecko-thing he was doing a pretty good job all things considered. Mumbling little chirps and clicks of a dead language only to himself (seemingly trying to do both ‘talking’ and ‘learning’ was difficult enough) he met the readied gaze of his friend and did his best to twist and punch-

There was no fear in his heart for hurting the other, not with the trust that his companion put in him not to; and so it was with a great deal of his strength that Whillow threw his corrected blow into the expected ‘block’ that Bryn put up. Scale met the more giving feel of covered flesh - and the gecko didn’t flinch at the recoil of the impact across his limbs as such a thing as he was made to dissipate that ripple through to the tip of his tail from large jumps anyway.

And the look on the heavier framed fighter’s face as the blow sent the man skidding back in the clearing earned slitted pupils to narrow further with a brash laugh - one sorely missed in those few minutes of unsure fear - before that gecko shook his hand from the impact and bound after the fallen ‘prey’ like the beast he was.

Though when he leapt high to straddle the fallen friend, he didn’t use claw or teeth; his tail wiggling to wrap around one of Bryn’s thighs as those raptored feet pushed his hips down against the other to pin him to the ground in that sense of fun victory, small hands splayed atop that broad chest as he looked down at the other with a broad smile full of teeth and mischievous pride.

For a second he tried to speak but only a guttural noise of that unknown language came out, and the lizard’s brows furrowed before he tried again;

“Yes?” A single word, as if asking for praise, for confirmation, excitement evident with those wiggled ears and slithering tail.

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Though when he leapt high to straddle the fallen friend, he didn’t use claw or teeth; his tail wiggling to wrap around one of Bryn’s thighs as those raptored feet pushed his hips down against the other to pin him to the ground in that sense of fun victory, small hands splayed atop that broad chest as he looked down at the other with a broad smile full of teeth and mischievous pride. For a second he tried to speak but only a guttural noise of that unknown language came out, and the lizard’s brows furrowed before he tried again; “Yes?” A single word, as if asking for praise, for confirmation, excitement evident with those wiggled ears and slithering tail.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The return of trust to that silver slitted gaze had Bryn letting out a little sigh of relief, his gaze on the little gecko as he gave him an encouraging nod. I won't hurt you. I promise. Bruise, maybe, but not hurt. The wags of that tail only had Bryn's eyes lighting up more, a sign of the playfulness returning, his friend back, no longer that scared little thing, no, now he was ready, prepared, learning.

And he did learn. The way he took that criticism, seemed to understand why Bryn was focusing on this, recognizing that it was important, and it all was...surprising. Before, when training her, she had fought tooth and nail against learning. Yet here...Whill seemed to enjoy it.

At least, that's what he thought the shiver from horn to tail meant.

The tail wagged, those pointed ears wiggled, and Bryn readied his arms, his block, his body loose and ready to absorb the hit, the punch that Whillow threw as he turned into it, little fist flying towards Bryn, the trained soldier rocking on his feet back to lessen the blow and--

It felt like he got hit with a chocobo at full sprint.

One second, his feet were on the ground solidly, boots rooted to stone, body loose and ready, not tensed like so many fighters accidentally did, making a punch so much more devastating than it would be. The next he was thrown backwards, up off his feet, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent O, eyes wide with surprise as Whillow threw such a good approximation of a bunch the large Hyur male found himself knocked onto his back, skidding a few fulm, and staring up at the sun overhead. His arms were still up in that block, his brain trying to process, catch up to what had just happened, a slight ache down to the bones in his arms where Whillow's little fist had connected, and he let out a grunt of...proud surprise.

The laugh, loud and clear, announced the arrival of the lizard over his fallen prey, Bryn finding him suddenly atop him, clawed feet on his hips pinning him, and clawed hands on his broad chest as he looked up at Whillow, that tail around his leg noted, letting his guard drop and hands fall amicably to those thin hips, Bryn realized he was...grinning. Actually grinning up at the gecko as he laughed too. His eyes gleamed with pride, with acceptance, his breath returning to normal from the heightened state it had entered while in the air for that brief moment, the gutteral sound the little dragon made earning a lifted eyebrow, and then a snort at the single word.

Yes?

"Yes! Exactly! Well done!" His left hand lifted, ruffled through Whillow's hair between his horns, his eyes holding silver gaze to silver gaze, giving him an extra ruffle for good measure before his hands fell to Whill's knees, his laugh filling the clearing as he shook his head. "I knew you were strong but...damn, the last time I got thrown was by an underhand axe blow." He let out a low sigh, staring up at the sky for a moment, at a passing cloud, and wistfully saying, "I can't remember the last time someone actually made my arms hurt with a punch..."

It was true, his pain tolerance high, higher than most thanks to experience and his other half, and while his arms were sore, they were already starting to fade away, hurt less, but his eyes were full of life at that light pain.

So quick to learn! I mean, not perfect, no, but to get the basic motion like that...what more can he do? Kicks? He shuddered suddenly at the thought of that kick, the dewclaw on those feet turning from a useful tool to deadly weapon when speed and power were put behind it, and he didn't realize his hand had shifted to touch that claw until it was under his fingers, and he trailed a finger over it's curve. "You surprised me, Whill," he admitted, drawing back his hand. "And your instinct to pounce on a fallen enemy was good. If you can help it, when you knock someone down, don't let them get back up. For you it might be...more difficult because of your frame," he admitted begrudgingly, "but if you learn how to grapple...well, I don't think much could stop you."

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[Prior]

The hand on his hips pulled him closer, pulled him right up against him, as he let the dragon press against him, press to his chest, to feel that beating heart, feel that pulse that beat wildly with interest, and slowly he let his face drift away from his ear, so close to the scaled cheek, before he felt his nose brush Whill's, and then pull back fully, his hand at his hip pushing him back softly, away from his warmth, but not off his boots, as he growled out just as teasingly, "Later. When I can have you to myself." He whistled, softly, Featherflame trotting closer, fweeing with approval and readiness to go, Bryn jerking his head to the bird mount and saying, "Let's go. Unless...you are afraid of your new Trusted Command."

One would expect such a call of a bluff to earn a wilt of confidence, for one to back down from the potential repercussions of such physical closeness - the strong hand to the back of the neck, those hungry eyes that promised so much more than he’d tempted; a caring threat of leashed control.

Of course, that was for normal people. Whillow, was anything but that - and the visible shiver that ran across his scales as a literal glint of the light from tip to tail only widened the sharp smile on his features as his companion leaned away, and it was here that the chitter came again.

It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but one of mirthful fun, of a friendly enjoyment. Neither of them had won the game and that meant it continued on - but the warmth in his core only heightened with the prospect that Brynhorn hadn’t pushed him away, hadn’t ignored the playfulness he would eventually seek.

The man just made a counteroffer that seemed far more delicious.

“Whillow has no fear, most so of Bryn.” Due to their closeness it was an easy tell of the shift in the way the little gecko moved, that taunting sensuality replaced on a pin with loose and comfortable muscles as his hands moved to pat that scruffy jaw of the Hyur - and like he’d seen many others do before, the beast pushed up on his toes to press a very soft kiss to one of those flushed cheeks as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Then, of course, he hopped as he ever did towards that chirping mount and looked to the bird with a raised brow and tilt of the head as if to say ‘Now are you gonna be nice?’ as he took the initiative to hop onto the saddle - sitting where he had been last time and due to the awareness of the height he managed such a thing without clawing or scrabbling any feathers (Though the leather of the hold itself may have a few dents)

Looking down to his friend that smile beamed with the excitement one could probably come to expect from the strange little beast, and he patted the space behind him as those talons crossed to sit, pointed ears wiggling in time with the curl of his tail.

“Come come come Bryn, Hearts eaten, Aether to burn!” It was time to see what a mortal’s so called ‘training’ really was.

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

As if to prove that feeling wrong those darting and unsure eyes locked to the other and he stepped forward to try and hit the larger man; stepping easily into his range from the longer reach, but the other probably wanted to gain some measurement of his ability without teeth and claw- Finding the little fellow having no real idea how to even throw a proper punch without the extension of bladed fingers. Over and over he made the genuine attempt and at no point did his expression shift to one of confidence - for a moment a leg rose on instinct as Bryn easily dealt with his poor ability again; instinct to try and snap a kick of that violent claw; only to stop himself in an instant before that blink of movement almost connected to the bare thigh where ample arteries waited to bleed him, retracting the attempt and nearly losing his balance at the same time.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn felt rather terrible for sending the little gecko flying and skidding across the ground. It wasn't like he hadn't meant to hit him that hard, no he had chosen his strength carefully, enough to hurt, but not to break. But the look he got, nothing could have prepared him for that.

The wide eyed, owlish look of surprise, concern written so evident on his face, no anger or upset looks, it was one of broken trust. And that hurt the soldier in ways fists never could.

I'm sorry, Whill, I'm sorry.

He wanted to say it, to wipe away the hint of fear in that gaze, to reassure the little La'Mellae that they were still friends, still good, but he couldn't, it wouldn't reinforce the reason for the sudden strike. It would detract from it when he needed the little dragon to focus on the fight and how to deal with the sudden attack.

But the flinch nearly broke him. Twelve that flinch cut deep. What had Whillow gone through to fear such pain on an instinctual level, to flinch when he approached as if expecting more? Had he struck too hard? Had he broken something? Please say no, I don't think Eljth would forgive me. He hesitated for a moment, took a step back, nearly reached out a hand to help him up, but he saw understanding, at least a little, dawn on Whillow's face, and he heaved a soft sigh of relief.

The way he stood up, studied Bryn and his stance, it gave him hope. And the soldier readied himself, arms up, fists balled, feet spaced shoulder width apart, one ahead of the other, left foot forward, his right hand his dominant, and with that stance, he was prepared to use his body behind the punch. His stance shifted, into a different one, feet still the same, but left fist up, right fist down, more near his hip level, ready to lash out if the opportunity arose, his eyes watching as Whillow seemed to inspect himself, as if trying to understand how he could take that stance too.

It was surprising to Bryn the calmness the little dragon went about that. Someone else might have grown angry, swung wildly, rushed Bryn and thrown themselves wide open to a counter attack. But Whillow...he kept calm. He looked over his body and Bryn's, and tried to mimic, to hold the form, to keep his claws away and learn.

Even his tail did curl around his legs, even if that flicker of fear was there, even if he shook his head as if to clear it of thoughts, of whatever caused that fear, and then slowly approached Bryn.

It hurt to see that. It hurt just as much as it had to train her.

That first blow was weak, uncoordinated, and caught with a fist, smacking it away, as Bryn stepped closer and shuffled within the gecko's guard. The punches were blocked, pushed away, judging the movements Whillow made, his coordination. It was there, but lacking, if the face of concentration said anything. Not fluid, jolting, too much thought behind each movement. His instincts almost seemed to hinder him here. It was there on the primal level, and as Whillow lifted that foot to lash out, stepping back and falling off balance, Bryn was there, immediately, a fist flying out and--

The flat of his left knuckles pressed to Whillow's chest, his right hand darting out and catching the dragon's left arm, keeping him upright as he quickly said, "You're using your arms. And arms only. Not your body." He released him and stepped back, jerking his head towards those curved claws on foot and hand. "I could tell when you attacked the dragon, you rely on your claws for everything. To cut, to tear, to kill, instead of using your entire body."

He took a practice punch, his left fist darting forward, stopping a breath from Whillow's nose, the turn of his hips, his shoulders, his body exaggerated, and the force behind it evident in the way air brushed through the gecko's hair. "I don't have claws. Or sharp teeth. But I have killed with my bare hands."

He stepped back, beckoning, calling Whillow forward as he rumbled out, "Again. And this time, twist your body, the same way you are throwing your punch. When I punch back, it won't stop short. So try and block it. I don't want to send you flying again."

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[prior]

He slowly approached the dragon, his fists coming up, loose, steady, protecting his face, neck, and chest, jerking his head towards the little gecko and ordering, "Come on, get up. You enemy isn't going to wait for you to get back to your feet. And protect yourself!" Get up Bryn! Fight! You aren't going to be far away and sniping the entire time! His Captain, the one who had trained him, handed him a rifle after learning he could shoot, taking him under his wing and training him. He owed his battle knowledge to that man, his mentor, and now, now he would pass on that same knowledge to someone new, the same way he was trained. By beating it into him. He paused for a moment, and then rapidly amended his statement, growling out, "No claws or teeth! You aren't trying to kill me, you are trying to knock me over, knock me down, take control. And I will be trying to do the same."

There was nothing in the moment that would have prompted the foolish lizard to think his friend would hit him.

It wasn’t a tap of a game, or a playful blow to start a roughhouse behavior, it was a whole piece of violence straight to his chest - none of his body had been properly tensed until the last moment of impact, and even then it wasn’t a proper instinct of danger.

It was trust to not feel pain that made him relax.

That just made him tumble all the farther as the shock came not from the ache of his lungs, but the confusion that spun with him as he soon came to slide back with crystal and rock catching on unforgiving scales until the little fellow came to a stop, and blinked as he stared at the sky for a few heartbeats.

At least it wasn’t as hard as Eljth kicked him. Then that may have broken something…

But still-

Owlish eyes stared at the other as he sat up; and one would expect anger from a beast, especially from a dragon who often crawled on walls or ate hearts while still beating in the body, however there was only a look of mild confusion and a bit of a lacking of understanding.

Why had he hit him? Why had he done so to the point to hurt him?

Brynhorn wasn’t his enemy.

He didn’t want to treat him like one.

Step by step the man approached, and the petite thing had yet to move, processing the words that had been shouted to him, commanded to him. Telling him to get up, to move, to fight;

Combat without warning, that was the closest thing to training of the La’Mellae - his father had taught him that. Bites and claws still marred his scales. Would Bryn be the same?

One more step of that heavy boot broke him from his thoughts as the shadow came over and Whillow flinched involuntarily, looking up at how despite Brynhorn’s words he did wait. He wasn’t actually going to beat him half to death, he wasn’t actually going to tear him open-

Shaking his head vigorously akin to a dog trying to get every ounce of water from his coat, Whillow did the same with the feelings that lingered. He didn’t like them. They hurt and he didn’t want them. So he wouldn’t think about it.

Instead, he stood and studied the way Bryn - his friend - held himself. No claws in those fists. No teeth to bite. No tail to strangle. This was the way of men, not La’Mellae. It was confusing, but just seemed boring when one had natural weapons - but Homa Hyur didn’t. They had to learn other things.

That is what this ‘training’ was. Like speaking. Something he wasn’t built to do.

But he would try all the same.

As any predator, to study something and learn for survival (an instinct now kicked up from the ache in his chest) Whillow did his best to try and mimic the obvious trap that the other held; a lacking trust of running at him as any mindless beast. Of course the gecko's form was horrible, his slender limbs made for a whole different type of thing, though he lifted a foot for a second to look to the dewclaw on his heel and pursed his lips in momentary thought of hoping not to accidentally bleed the other with the non-retractable talons that covered him.

The feel of his tail curling against his ankle made the little dragon huff and stamp it back - trying to push away the tingled fears that still crawled over his spine.

Bryn had even said ‘No killing’.

He wouldn’t be mauled in punishment. It would be fine. He could trust this.

As if to prove that feeling wrong those darting and unsure eyes locked to the other and he stepped forward to try and hit the larger man; stepping easily into his range from the longer reach, but the other probably wanted to gain some measurement of his ability without teeth and claw-

Finding the little fellow having no real idea how to even throw a proper punch without the extension of bladed fingers. Over and over he made the genuine attempt and at no point did his expression shift to one of confidence - for a moment a leg rose on instinct as Bryn easily dealt with his poor ability again; instinct to try and snap a kick of that violent claw; only to stop himself in an instant before that blink of movement almost connected to the bare thigh where ample arteries waited to bleed him, retracting the attempt and nearly losing his balance at the same time.

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[Prior]

"Featherflame!" His voice was incredulous, his bird, apparently having regained its courage, was angrily flapping its wings and kicking the corpse of the dragon, a hilariously morbid sight as Bryn whistled her off, the bird turning, screeching once more at the dragon that had almost ruined its precious tail, and then strutted over to her master as he carried that little dragon, stopping and waiting patiently for them as Bryn carried Whillow towards the little dragon's prize, the larger dragon. He didn't stop, or let him down once they reached the fallen beast, still holding him close as his eyes wandered over the impressive creature, and remembering...he had charged it. Like a madman, just ran at it without a single ounce of fear or worry. His gaze flicked to Whill, then away, nodding to the beast as he asked without really wanting to know the answer, "Its heart...why do you like them so much?"

It wasn’t often that Whillow got to just lounge around in another person’s arms, nice, and comfy, and warm and comfy. He already thought about that one. But it was true. Bryn’s jacket had a nice cushion under his scales (Or was that the muscles of the man himself? A question for later.) and the scent of his Bryn-ness eased his relaxation all the more.

There was no direct connection towards the more ‘traditional’ sense of a concussion that Whillow had, his skull wasn’t cracked open in any dangerous way, but the shake of the impact most definitely threw his internal core for a loop, with that small amount of blood coming from further back his hairline. It’d be fine, it always was.

Especially after he got to eat that big tasty heart.

A chittered chuckle escaped him as the two of them were turned to see the feathered friend joining in on the fun with a good few kicks to the limp body of the large dragon. Whillow tried to copy the whistle in turn (not really knowing how but trying all the same) and wiggling a hand towards the Chocobo for a ‘pet’ motion. For a job well done!

Wiggly brain was kind of silly. But it would pass in a bit.

As his holder stood before the prize, the little gecko began to slink out of his hands, that same laugh on his lips as his toes reached for the bloodied scales just out of reach - halfway to the ground as Bryn’s voice caught his attention and those bright silvers looked up at him from his upsidedown musing, chuffing air as if it was an obvious thing.

“Core.” There was an inherent ‘duh’ to the tone, his brows raised for a moment as he continued to shift his talons to the corpse. Before stilling as he realized his friend had a really, really good grip on him. Somehow.

Pointed ears wiggled as he stuck his tongue out and gave another answer. “Aether, For Core.” He tapped his chest with the tip of his tail. “Eat, and not empty.” That tail then moved to point to his head and his expression turned to a wide toothed grin. “Make Better.”

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf-[Prior]

Slowly, the soldier lowered the dragon back onto his boots, giving him a moment, and then bumping his forehead to those horns, bending down slightly, and meeting those slitted pupils again as he said more confidently, "Thank you. For showing, and explaining. And...you're welcome to my warmth when we are together. As long as you promise to not endanger us in the process." He gave the little dragon a look that said he was serious about the last part, but he wasn't pulling away from him as he took a step, and then another, half waddling towards the nearby Featherflame as he grumbled, "This is not exactly productive to walking..."

A hug.

It wasn’t foreign to him; But it wasn’t common either.

Deep silvers widened as the warmth surrounded him - the claws that held to strap and hem tightening for half a heartbeat as emotion welled in his eyes. He was quick to blink it away, burying himself into the moment instead. The thrum of that pulse was strong, comforting, Present for him.

Some of the scions would give him hugs, or headbutt him in turn, but it was not something that happened often - busy as everyone was, and as unruly as he could be, it never seemed that he ‘earned’ the display of affection.

He knew it didn’t work like that here, there was no ‘good job’ in compassion for another, the lizard never did anything wrong, but that was part of the Caste so ingrained into his Core.

Here, as those taloned feet dangled happily, the length of that tail raising to coil gently around the waist of his friend in a strange cold hug of his own, Whillow knew there was no wrong answer, this wasn’t a reward for good behavior.

It was affection with no strings attached.

Even as Brynhorn put him down back to stand on those solid boots (The best footholds a gecko could ask for) and earned a headbutt of his own culture, the kindness of a hug didn’t fade and he found his tail swaying with joy as that warmth was offered all the more - though he chittered a laugh and nodded in agreement to keeping safe.

Sharp eyes looked down with that bubbling chirping echoing all the more mirth as his friend started walking with him still standing atop his feet, making not a single motion to get off as he enjoyed the free ride far too much.

“No product! Fun!”

The dour air had lifted as the light beyond the storm, and everything seemed to be as bright as a new day, easy, content, happy.

It was the shadow of wings that broke that dream, the scoring height of the dragon thought lost was the first thing to be noticed - the sound of it’s roaring call soon after - sweeping low into the clearing with large claws outstretched-

Whillow was the first to move this time (Mostly due to the fact he was already hindering his companion’s movement with tail and talon) pulling Bryn forward with his heels easily kicking out their posture to do so, falling back to duck low beneath that flying predator, the ground beneath him knocking the air from him for a moment but leaving the two unscathed as the hunting beast looped skyward, empty of a meal.

The kwehing calls of Featherflame chirped in the clearing as the steed began to circle, warming up long striding muscles for the need for escape if the moment was called for by the man who lay huddled over his smaller charge. Obviously the soldier was trained enough to keep his weight from falling flat, but Whillow wasn’t trained in any regard but instinct.

“Ah.” He hummed, watching the territorial dragon sweeping the loop to begin turning, the world upside-down as his slitted eyes watched the skies while laying on his back. It was with a gleeful smile that he looked up to the man above him, arms stretching out to curl around that warm neck as he used the leverage to pull himself up, feeling the soldier’s breath against his lips from the short distance.

“New Hunt to play?”

[musesofawolf]

13th-dragon-prince--[[Prior]]

It was an instinct to scope out the world, and it took only a few moments to take stock of everything around; metals and crystals bound by rock and plant here and there to jump over, encircled walls to climb and scamper to hide them from the sight of the unknown, a nice flat area with small puddles of collected rainwater but nothing deep enough to swim within. A playpen just for them. Hands on his hips Whillow listened to the others as pointed ears picked up the sound of Featherflame walking away, that well known sound of those solid boots coming up to him with a shift in the Hyur's posture which made the gecko’s thin brows furrow as he turned with that curious blink.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The soft press of that weight to his chest and lap were comforting, welcome. He found himself...enjoying it, even leaning into it, as the dragon leaned into him. It was a familiarity he wasn't used to. One of someone who connected to him at such a instinctual level that he couldn't deny.

And Bryn felt a little bad.

Whillow had relaxed against him, closed his eyes, offered him that trust as Bryn planned to put him through the ringer, and he felt a little bad about it. But only a little. Especially after that tail curl had his breath catching and his eyes flicking down to the base of it. The damn gecko needs clothes. And he needed to get his mind back on focus. Thankfully, the gecko slid off the chocobo, landing easily on the ground, and taking a look around the area. His heavy boots followed, thumping against the ground as he turned to Featherflame, placing his gun on the saddle, tying it down, and then patting Featherflame's neck, murmuring, "Go on girl, you won't want to be here."

Featherflame looked at him with a questioning gaze, or as questioning as a chocobo could look, before plodding off with a little chirp, leaving Bryn to turn and face Whillow as he wandered around close by.

It was a perfect place to train, nothing but metal chained rocks, crystal, and flat ground with little puddles, giving them plenty of area to fight, to train, to begin teaching. His gaze scanned once more, just to make sure that they were truly alone, and then began to turn towards Whillow, and rapidly approach.

His foots thudded over the ground, walking straight through a puddle, the water splashing, letting that beast within him coil, curl, rise, his strength increasing, eyes sharpening, senses heightened as he took a step, landed within a fulm of the little gecko, his left foot slid forward, planted horizontal to Whillow, right fist suddenly cocked back, breath sucked in, and right as Whillow turned, his hips twisted, his fist flashed forward, and with a grunt, his balled up fist slammed into the petite male's chest with the full force of his body behind it.

And he sent Whillow flying. The heavy, but still small dragon didn't stand a chance, the force of the burly soldier's entire body devastating to a normal human, but to the keratin covered dragon, it was just enough to hurt, and send him head over heels through puddles, across rock, and finally coming to a rest about fifteen fulm from his original position, the slow, easy breath hissing from Bryn's lips as he shook his fist softly, calling out to him. "That's why you need to learn how to block."

He slowly approached the dragon, his fists coming up, loose, steady, protecting his face, neck, and chest, jerking his head towards the little gecko and ordering, "Come on, get up. You enemy isn't going to wait for you to get back to your feet. And protect yourself!"

Get up Bryn! Fight! You aren't going to be far away and sniping the entire time! His Captain, the one who had trained him, handed him a rifle after learning he could shoot, taking him under his wing and training him. He owed his battle knowledge to that man, his mentor, and now, now he would pass on that same knowledge to someone new, the same way he was trained. By beating it into him.

He paused for a moment, and then rapidly amended his statement, growling out, "No claws or teeth! You aren't trying to kill me, you are trying to knock me over, knock me down, take control. And I will be trying to do the same."

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[Prior]

"Very well, then I will teach you." He let them fall back into comfortable silence, leaning into the lean back against his chest, his hands shifting on the little dragon's legs as he let his warmth soak into Whill, knowing full well that he was about to sorely test exactly how far the dragon's trust of him went. They arrived at the clearing soon enough, Bryn stopping Featherflame with a gentle tug on the reigns, and she listened obediently, slowing to a stand still as Bryn tapped Whillow's leg. "Hop off real quick, let's do a quick little session. One focused on power."

Training wasn’t something that Whillow had a particular understanding of, not due to his lack of care - or even attempts at such - it was more in line that his particular type of training was a lifetime of survival. Learning through trial and error of what would keep him alive; not much room was ever dedicated in his culture to the refinement of ability when loss of ability just meant you weren’t good enough.

And Whillow never wanted to be the best of his breed; that’s what he had been born to be after all.

Enjoying the moment, the time with companions who didn’t wish him harm, that was more important than finding the true core of his abilities - even if it made him a failure in the eyes of his brood.

The only thing that the little gecko ever genuinely put effort into learning was communication - which to any who spoke with him now may still think him ill spoken or guttural at times, but Eljth had worked hard over their friendship to help him to understand and speak freely; using muscles that were not made for such speech to force the words as needed. It was more effort than one would think to make sounds you weren’t designed to hold.

So, it was those types of things that Whillow sought to learn - despite his high calibre for violence, and his hunger for meat or hunts, he wasn’t actually the type to fight unless prompted. Too much energy; and a lifetime of scrabbling for every second in a constant of watchful prey instinct made the Source feel like a kind relaxation for most of his days, time that had him able to breathe and know he wouldn’t find claws tearing him open while he slept.

Moments like now, as he sat in quiet peace with the warmth of his friend against his back, the even steps of the steed a rocking lullaby on the wind as he just found himself relaxed - more than when he’d ridden the mount prior.

Now, after a hunt; and the proof of Bryn’s morals, Whillow could trust to close his eyes and know all would be well.

The pace slowed and a tap on his leg made those bright silvers open slowly, lazily, and he looked up with that soft ‘haa’ noise of agreement he often made before sliding off with a well balanced fall to sharp feet - stretching his whole body with a shake that had his tail curl up to a crescent before falling with a hop to each foot as he looked around the clearing he wasn’t familiar with.

It was an instinct to scope out the world, and it took only a few moments to take stock of everything around; metals and crystals bound by rock and plant here and there to jump over, encircled walls to climb and scamper to hide them from the sight of the unknown, a nice flat area with small puddles of collected rainwater but nothing deep enough to swim within. A playpen just for them.

Hands on his hips Whillow listened to the others as pointed ears picked up the sound of Featherflame walking away, that well known sound of those solid boots coming up to him with a shift in the Hyur's posture which made the gecko’s thin brows furrow as he turned with that curious blink.