He is sleeping beneath his wisteria, amber eyes hidden beneath closed eyelids and heavy lashes. There is a comfort in being in Hyaline, deep in the center of the territory where the lake is rippling quietly and the only other sounds are the tree boughs and their leaves as they rustle.
A loud crash and the shaking earth startle the Akhal-Teke awake, his lean frame immediately bounding from beneath the purple boughs, his amber eyes searching for the source of the sound in the darkness. It takes his gaze a moment to adjust to the shadows and then he is off, searching for Iset and Sakir as a cold fear blooms in his chest. Another loud crash sounds and the dragon king pushes his gait so that he is galloping recklessly through the thickly-entwined trees, eyes wide and frantic as he searches, searches, searches.
Fire erupts to his left. The bronzed and gilded stallion whinnies loudly, calling for his siblings, for Tang, for Molotov. No one else matters.
The heat grows, the scent of burnt foliage thick and bitter, the flames spreading quickly towards him of their own accord. He coughs into the smoke as he runs through the burning trees, his scales offering him an added protection that Amet hadn't even considered when the Fairy had granted him his glittering armor. A scream comes from close by and Amet pivots hard, his hooves digging into the soft ground as he emerges into the clearing and spots Tang, frantic and injured, on the opposite side of the small, burning meadow.
"Tang!" he cries, rushing for the mare's side while his mind screams for him to follow the perpetrator, to do to the fire-maker what He had once done to Amet, Iset, and Sakir. But Amet knows, infuriatingly knows, that he cannot dish out the same type of magic, and that there would be no common ground for them to fight. "Are you okay?! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault," he barrages Tang with his frantic words.
He forgets the fires and the fallen trees around him and spins on his haunches, screaming again, "Molotov!" He yells it aloud and in his head, hoping that the telepath will be near enough to hear him. Molotov, please, his mind pleads into the openness, tell me their names, tell me who they are! The golden king does not pursue the group, does not leave Tang's side, instead comforting himself with the thought of their powerful allies.
They will come back from this.
@[Molotov]