Time is fleeting. So are people. The Chamber, She is constant, She is unwavering.

Among the the shadows and the pine, the Chamber's dragon weaves a path. The earth beneath him is unworn, lesser traveled, unmarked. The tough scales of his wings scrape their song in his wake, leaving music with his memento to their hides. A kiss of scale and membrane to the mottled bark, a camaraderie that few shared or understood.

It is always the same, it is always different, and in that paradox Killdare finds solace. The girl had left, just as quickly as she had come, blending in to the backdrop until she was a memory. Leaving only her scent behind as a reminder that she had ever really been there to begin with.

The same, always the same, people left. They came as well and here is where he finds the red female, a ghastly looking black colt at her side.

Where the young thing should have had eyes, he had ill appearing sheaths of black. Leather like the membrane of his own wings, tucked at his sides. He's never met the two, the one for that matter, perhaps he made a poor Lord indeed. It's never an easy task, keeping up with the comings and going of the Chambers subjects, the oddballs and horrors the pines call to. Even to this day those of gentle nature, are a rare finding in his home, but he wouldn't trade it. Not for anything.

And because he knows them not, he begins with a hello, a welcome. "Welcome to the Chamber." The sticky afterbirth of the child suggests they had been in residence for a time, at least long enough to see through breeding. Else, one of the residents had wandered, spread their seed and the woman saw fit to bring the children here. Child. Just the one, the odd dark thing with no eyes.  The one with not only his or his Dam's blood and gore on his person. A young blue at their feet and not an eyelash to be batted. Killdare reserved his own sentiments on that matter, instead remaining statuesque as he observed the two.

If anything about her was soft, it was lost on him. As lost as maternal instinct appeared to be on the woman. Nothing passes between the group that suggests they are all strangers, that suggests they are as unfamiliar with each other as a newborn babe is to the world.  The children on the other hand melt into their dam, pressing their young forms into her body for protection. It’s a sight he’s seen a time or two, one that reminds him of his sons, of Engelfors and he shakes the thought away.

The misshapen boy scents, nostrils prying at the air for something to grab on to. For something to hold with a sense that had not been robbed from him, this Killdare can understand. Often he considered just how much more important one’s sense of smell was compared against the others. He shifts slightly, lifting a wing from his side and waving it forward. A rush of air to follow, like the waving of a fan on a summer day. Throwing his own smell at the child, one filled with musk and pine. With a faint reptilian base, soot and ash as well. Killdare knew he smelled mainly of the Chamber, he so rarely left it.

The woman then greets him, hello, his eyes wander from the boy to the red again. Remembering her presence as she shoos the child forward, the dim light leaking through the pines playing on his features. His mess or lake thereof anyways, he would never be handsome that’s for sure. Not in the sense that Killdare regarded the word, yet he cannot fault the colt for it. No one ever chooses their fate, let alone their appearance. They simply play the hand they are given, and take what they can with it.

“Interesting. If you say.” He comments, voice deep baritone and coarse. In truth the foal was like a train wreck engulfed in flame, and he was unable to revert his eyes from the horror. Remembering his manners for a brief moment he tethers his name to their ears, “Killdare.” His brow furrows as he looks them over, glassy green eyes passing over each form with a sense of study.

The burst of air passes the babe, and the colt only breathes deep his musk. scenting the rush of air much like Killdare would do himself, taking it in for what it was worth. The lord watches him almost curiously as the child takes the scent, as if it is a gift, and tucks himself back into his Dam. Fumbling momentarily against his shortcomings before melting into her shoulder and side once more.

His ears twist against his coarse black forelock, noticing the growing boldness and inquisitiveness of the twilight colored filly. His glassy eyes find a place on the girl, her head curving around her mother’s side. Already she has an explanation on her lips and he waits, listens, eyes almost hard as he takes in the information though he does not feel cross on the matter. it is only that his features betray him as he retains the information, the cause of the child’s appearance- which is in whole, unknown.

Still, he can’t fault them, any of them, for something that is so out of their control. Surely, someway, somehow the boy could serve the Chamber still, could be useful. Isn’t that what children were good for? Wasn’t that their purpose?  To carry on their parents legacy, to make their family proud, bring honor to their names?

He’s not certain this particular mare would quite agree with his way of thinking. Her passive demeanor towards her female child speaks well to him, though he doesn’t boast to be good with young girls. Usually they were far too clingy for his liking but he had been trying with Raelle, that,he could say with certainty.

Even the grown ones cause him a level of discomfort from time to time, as this red was doing now. A forward progression of herself, her progeny, all with eyes on him. The study of the scaled appendages that emerged from his backside made him feel like a spectacle. “Nothing as glorious as you have in mind, I can be sure. I’ve served, remained loyal to the Chamber, to those who took me in.” He can remember vividly that day, Straia had in a sense tucked him under her wing(though then she had no trace of raven feathers), and took him for her own. For the Chamber.

All he had done was serve. Even now he continues to do the same.

"What should We expect from you, from yours?" It is evident that by We he does not mean he stands alone. That by We he means, he and the Chamber.