THE DRAGON'S IRE, MORE FIERCE THAN FIRE
He’s called the conjurer to the mocking grounds, they all needed to practice for what was to come-including himself.
Autumn falls upon Beqanna just as easily as the leaves to the ground, the air is cool, and welcome on his back. He takes mental note that the boy is taller than he, but only a bit. When it came down to it, that would matter little, and not offer much advantage. What he does concern himself with (and it seems he always must) is the sleek form of the colt before him. He was easily heavier than most, and because of it slower. What he did lack in speed though, he would try to make up for in strength. Every hit must count if he was to win.
There is no honor in besting the little man, this he knows, but there is honor in the knowledge to be gained. Every fight was a lesson learned, no matter the outcome, regardless of the spoils.
Now a little man is just as useful as a big man, tough and wiry as they are, but what battle demands before all things- is a sound mind in a sound body. Muscle is useless without mind. Mind is just the same when unsupported by endurance. Mind is essential, endurance is essential, muscular strength is a most valuable auxiliary.
He imagines they stand before each other, a time (though short) for such thoughts to take place. Though they can not simply remain idle, and Killdare would never dream of such- so the bay beast advances. Swiftly (as any large beast might possibly go) he rears, bringing his weight to his hind-quarters and strikes forward on his way back down. Thrusting his forelegs out, sending his hooves at the young bay, and adding momentum to his physical strength.
Again reaching the earth, he trots away a few paces to the lads left, using that very same wing to reach out. He swipes one of the slate-colored talons at the necromancer as he goes by, before tucking the scaled arm back to his side, and turning about face. At this he gives a great snort, raking the hardening autumn ground before he prepares his next attack.