After only a month of trying, Rhaegar had successfully impregnated his 'bride,' the beautiful teal Solara that he had claimed as his own within Darastrixi di wer Iski, and she was nothing to bat an eyelash at. Strong of body and character, she was a charming representation of what he wanted, the perfect lady for the knight that he was. But there was a darker side to their companionship, a shadow cast by the ray of light that their life together should have been: the stallion wasn't happy.
A restlessness that he couldn't describe, couldn't name, kept the male awake at night, brought doubts to his mind and chilled his heart to the concerns of his herd. His cold lover had no ear for his troubles, bothered only with their responsibility to their kind and their king above them. Yet Rhaegar could not bow his allegiance. He could not recognize Mishaelion as the true king, no matter how many times he bowed at the knee and lied through his teeth. Somewhere deep within the dragon, rebellion stirred, a terrorizing mixture of distress and anger that left him with nowhere to run. He would not stand up against his king, not now, not without a soul to back him up, an even so, what would they be backing? What was it that stirred the willfulness within him?
It was these thoughts that brought Rhaegar from his sleep and bed once again, off to land wherever the night sky wished to take him. He descended in a dark area near the foothills of the mountain, black hooves kicking up dirt as he slowed himself upon the ground, folding his red-webbed wings along both sides. It was a chill night, no surprise for early spring, and a faint dusting of fog covered the land around him, hiding any sign that he might have company. All for the better – so long as he could not see them, he could care less if he had any spies.
