Lost Creek Hollow There's delays on the planes out of Eastern Montana

at least out here out from beneath the far casting shadows of his elder brothers, dracarys can grow. can build. at least out here, he is not hindered. a blessing in disguise, perhaps, he considers with a flick of his ear — even if being called lowborn settles like a metallic coating upon his tongue that he does not like. it curdles and sours until he is grimacing.
no, he speaks with a fierce defiance then, the word a harsh whisper as it escapes his lips. i am free. to make my own legacy, to forge my own bloodline. the power of knowing he could do whatever he wanted in that moment was almost overwhelming; manifesting itself with a sweep of his tail against the green grasses. the gods have blessed me in a way they never blessed my siblings.