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Quster silently watched his mother fly off, the final wisps of wind brushing his face from her great wings. He saw her form shrink into the horizon speckled in gray clouds, finally disappearing into obscurity. He hoped she would return soon. Already, the world around him seemed more foreboding without the lull of her presence. The whelp is brought back to the present by a bored grunt emanating from his kin. "I hate being trapped up on this cliff. Why can mother not allow us to hunt for ourselves?" The violet one turned to face him, already becoming tense once left alone with his cruel crimson brother. He passively listens as Iramkae continues without reply "She always says it is for our own good, that she will bring us all of the food we need. I'm sick of being hungry," He turns to face the listening violet and growls "And I hate being forced to be happy with a little brother who does nothing but listens and stares like a boring mute!"

Quster looks down, sad, as his clutch mate huffs and stomps in his own frustration. Maybe he should take a nap-- that usually made the hunger and sadness go away for a little while. Iramkae wanders to the edge of their cliff-side home, hesitantly looking over the edge. He turns back with a strange, malevolent curiosity, and says back to Quster "Do you have no guts inside of you? I don't want to starve up here waiting for mom to come back with nothing. Come up here," The violet whelp, against his better instincts, walks up beside him, though stayed well away from the frightening edge. The red continues "Look out there. Imagine how much prey there is to catch, blood to taste, and places to explore! If only my wings were big enough..."

The aquamarine- accented Quster errantly yawns, his wings fanning out to either side of him, their length and span seeming to capture the broader, though shorter-winged Iramkae's ire. Suddenly, the red gets an idea. "If you have any honor to you, then you should put yours to use. Don't you want to get out as much as I do? I know you like to look at that pond. Why not see how many tasty fish there are there?" Quster lifts his head, tilting it and looking down to that same pond again. His stomach uncomfortably growled. Yet, if there was one thing he hated more than hunger, it was the prospect of submitting to his brother's will. Quster turns away from the cliff with a growl, now opting to stubbornly lay near the base of the nest his egg had been lain in, the old fragments dry and brittle beneath his feet.

The red figure sitting at the base does not take kindly to his refusal. "Coward, coward! You rather starve up here than take my advice?" He makes an eerily familiar hiss to Quster, now approaching him with teeth exposed. "You have no respect for anything!" the crimson mock-roars in shear frustration. Quster rises with his own growl to answer, those golden eyes of his slitted and burning with a dangerous mixture of hunger and rage. Without hesitation, he bounds forward and rams his head into Iramkae's hard chest. The red stumbles backwards, growling furiously. He makes ineffective lunging bites at the violet's neck, now being shoved onto his back . Quster growls in equal fury, now attempting to pin the crimson down. His claws dig into Iram's forelegs, eliciting a short whine from the crimson. Yet, the benefit of surprise did not last long; Iram yanks his paws free and heaves his enraged sibling off of him. Quster stumbles back, reeling, one of his rear feet slipping and sending a few stones tumbling off of the cliff-side. His heart leaps, and Iram only pushes the advantage. Iram charges forward and slamed his heavy his body into him.

Quster makes a frightened shriek, fruitlessly scrabbling for the edge and tumbling off of the edge. Iram only stared down the steep drop with a shocked expression as his brother fell. Quster whipped and writhed in the air as a weightless sensation fell over him, the ground hurtling up frighteningly fast. He was overwhelmed by a primal terror and a deep conviction to live. His wings snap out when it just seemed the hard forest floor would eat him whole, his body lurching back as he catches the wind, slowing his plummeting decent. Yet, he still fell into a harsh landing. The violet whelp yelped as one of his forepaws hit the ground first, twisting to an explosion of pain, him now rolling forwards into a disorientating roll. He winces his eyes tightly shut as he makes an attempt to right himself up, a sudden nausea overcoming the young one.

He stills himself, his ragged panting breath finally slowing to an exasperated huff. He was alive. Quster warily looks up to his brother's head peaking from over the edge. Hate, that is what he felt when he heard Iram's voice drift down to him "Are you okay?" His mind running ahead of his logic, Quster limps away, each step twice as difficult as the last. He would run, or even fly if he could. Just to be anywhere but here.

When even his undamaged paws burned beneath his feet, muscles feeling as stiff as these branches he walked over, Quster finally stopped. Nothing but fey wilderness surrounded him, and in his wrath he had lost track of the twists and turns he had taken on this aimless journey. Lost, alone, tired, and hungry, Quster collapses, ignoring the warm pulsing pain stabbing through his injured paw. He closes his eyes, only wishing to rest and escape the multitude of pains ailing his mind and body. That rest comes mercifully soon thereafter, the young dragon slipping into the comforting darkness.

Quster awakes to a cold blurr, the chilling breeze feeling to nip the tips of his feet and the point of his tail. He blinks warily, shifts in the cool grass, and yelps as pain shoots through his paw. How he wished for mother's comfort and protection then! His mouth was dry and his belly empty. The lost purple raises his snout to the air and sniffs, meeting an odd cacophony of scents and aromas. He carefully rises to his feet and begins limping in one direction, the subtle whir of a running river heard ahead.

He arrives at the river running swiftly down to the darker forest ahead. The only thought that ran down Quster's mind was that of fresh water. He approaches the edge with reckless abandon, holding his injured foot aloft as to not disturb it. Tenderly, he dips his head down to take a hearty drink, mind clearing a tad with his thirst sated. A sudden, dipping splash alerts Quster, now raising his head to warily look at the churning blackness flowing in front of him. His eyes spot nothing. Was that a fish? Hunger gripping the young dragon, he peers closer to the water, gazing steadfast, a long, dark form swimming just below the surface of the stream.

Without another moment of hesitation, Quster bites at the elongated form, extending his neck in the desperate attempt to catch his first meal. His teeth find purchase on something scaly and writhing, blood now coloring the water. Quster digs his feet into the muddy embankment, pulling with his entire body's force, ignoring the piercing pain shooting up his injured foot. Suddenly, a frighteningly large creature shoots out of the water, an impossibly long body and small, shining scales glinting in the moonlight, breaking out of the violet dragon's grip. It hissed at him, and he realized had pulled a resting serpent from the water's depths. He backs away, though the angered snake slithers forward, black, unblinking eyes boring into him.

It hisses again, fleshy maw and rows of small pinpricks of teeth put on full display, readying a lunge. Quster sidesteps and avoids the bite-- before he could counter, the serpent's body suddenly embraced his own, snapping around him and squeezing. He feels cold scales slither around his neck, that grip growing tighter and tighter by the second. The snake only impassionately stared into his burning golden eyes as he was strangled, opening its jaws uncannily wide over the violet whelp's snout. Each breath became harder than the last. Had the hunter became the hunted? Quster, with a new rush of adrenaline-fueled terror, writhed with what little energy he had left, managing to drive one of his short, yet sharp claws into the serpent's belly, eliciting a feral hiss and a brief relaxation. Quster takes a breath with his aching chest and growls. He uses this newfound leverage to kick the coils away from his neck, pounding pain in his paw making the world spin. The next few moments were a haze of mortal struggle, finally ended by a firm bite of the dragon's jaws on the serpent's throat, bringing forth a bitter spurt of sticky crimson. Quster's chest heaved, the action of breathing bringing another spike of discomfort. He had done it, finally secured his kill. The pride was muffled by the onset of his hunger pains, and Quster moves to eat what was righteously his. Body bruised and stained with viscera, yet miraculously alive. Relief and anxiety intertwine seamlessly within the young dragon. How may he find his way back home? Would he be punished for escaping? For now, these internal, worrying questions are cast aside as he picks apart the dead serpent.