He is just a boy and he doesn’t know whether to be intimidated, or afraid, or enthralled when the feline turned stallion breaks through. His eyes are reptilian, although whether dragon or snake it is hard to tell, and his scaled body takes a step back, uncertainty painted in all of his youthful lines. He could shift, he knows, and he could find that fire that lives deep within his chest, but it doesn’t come to him.
That dragon, that thing locked deep within him, remains stilled.
Instead he watches with his wide eyes and tucks his wings in close as though the leathery appendages will be able to save him at all. He watches instead and maybe it’s pride or foolishness that has him replying,
“I am a dragon.”
Or maybe it’s just that desperate need to be that which his father and mother made. The poisonous thing of their creation—crafted from the both of them. As if to prove his point, as if worried that this stranger would deem him a liar, he shifts. He becomes that ice-covered dragon, although he is still small and he is still immature. He lashes his tail behind him, dust pluming and branches cracking, and he opens his mouth in a snarl but it is not nearly as loud or as booming as the sound that his father can make.
Disappointed, he shifts back into the young boy of brown and sapphire and looks.
“I guess you could say that I have seen one.”
@Malik