The little royal didn't quite notice it at first, given his age, yet over time would begin to notice the world outside the den mouth. That world out there always seemed to accompany two others wolves outside from the two which were his mother's within. One black. One brown and white. Always around, lingering. It was about due time he met them properly.

Rousing from the tangle of her sister's and one large paw of his Móður on his hip as she too slumbered, Rhaegal yawned and made lazy steps into the direction of the den opening, following the scent of meat.

Outside was a gray haze - it always was, if not completely dark all together as the Sun struggled to show itself as months and months past. His mother's had spoken of it, about how bright it was, how it warmed the world. He didn't know how he felt about that. Couldn't quite decide what ‘bright’ really was.

Eyes like moms. His speech was still quite limited, of course, but it would be obvious who he met as he looked up at Fiora with goat leg in her jaws. Then, as he turned to the wraith. No eyes. Children had no filter.