you should see me in a crown; your silence is my favorite sound
They were near enough to watch in the distance, this clan of horses that he had been assigned to. He found his spotted woman to be desirable; she was warm and affectionate and that pleased him. The others were attractive too in the same way that he adored bones picked clean after a kill, the blood and bits of flesh all gnawed off and pristine white. Not that he had had any yet, but he could imagine he'd like them.
They were pretty. Nice to look at. They did not dote on him the way his woman did, nor nourish his hungry body. He did not sense he was an acceptable addition to them, though he could be wrong. Still. He kept his distance.
As soon as his father descended near him, his oceanic blue-green eyes snapped to him, his alert attention locked on the black, white, bronze, and gold figure. His nostrils flared at a scent though, and his hungry gaze slid down to the prize in his father's clutches. He wasn't surprised to see Castile in this shape, looking as familiar to him as the horse version of his sire despite this being the first time he'd seen it.
His focus was elsewhere though, and he barely heard Dad's words of greeting and affection as he jumped to his feet, absently cataloging the gentle touch over his skin as he bolted with an eager snarl for the gift of food. He stumbled, collapsing in a snowy pile of cold stuff before righting himself again and continuing stubbornly, his small body pouncing to try and navigate the massive mound of snow.
His father's eyes met his and he halted, staring back patiently as he listened. Dad's lips curled up in a display of his words, baring his teeth, and Gilt's eyes flew to his again. Teeth? Those were teeth. Yes. Okay. His mouth twitched as he tried to mimic, then with an irritated huff at his failure he tried harder, his lips peeling back too and showing teeny gleaming teeth not even a half-inch long yet.
He would likely need assistance in tearing limbs or breaking skin, but he was proud of himself for doing as his father had wanted of him, grinning up at him in what would one day be a terrifying grimace to prey. He growled ferociously in satisfaction at his success, a light-voiced little purring in his child-like throat.
He enjoyed the blood on Dad's teeth and wanted his to match, so his eager stare turned on the carcass again, though this time he waited for permission to feast on his gift. Accidentally learning predator courtesy was probably a good thing for creatures so powerful and violent and territorial. His little body trembled in anticipation though, barely containing himself, barely holding still and not immediately bounding to his food with saliva pooling on his tongue.
He swallowed a couple times when he felt the moisture of drool in the corner of his mouth, licking the inside of his mouth and wiggling on his haunches in preparation to leap as if the thing wasn't already dead.
Gilt
the gilded stormdragon