Dark rolling clouds ahead. They hide away the sun, the stars and the moon is but a hidden wisp of silver lighting just barely illuminating their world. Yet in the clouds in the shine of blue in his dreams, reflecting off and then dancing away from his reach…

Rhaegal takes in a deep, long breath, then out. The warmth of it stirring in the cold air. Ears swept back as footballs crunched on the earth. It would have been far too light a step, too precise to be Móður, so instead was Matb. He was far too young to have true words of understanding, but associated one mother with quiet and pressure (intensity) and another with weight and warmth.

Don't know… He said, his brows creasing with a bit of frustration. Want to know. What were these glowing rocks? What spirits spoke in his mind? What world would his family go to next if this one died?

He looks up to his mother than with expectancy. Knowing she would hold the answers to anything he could ever ask.