Peacekeeper Fortress, Dragon Kingdom

Back on solid ground, shortly after disembarking from a swift-winded balloon ride, Spyro peered ahead into the shaded entrance of the realm's fortress, with great wooden doors kept ajar by several sun-bleached casks near its hefty iron hinges. Entering the much appreciated shade of the large structure, guarding the only water-level entrance through the continent's stretches of sheer cliffs, the couple's differing steps onto hard stone of the interior flooring echoed within, mingling with utterances of several masculine voices Spyro already recognized. Passing piles of stored weaponry, armor and supplies, Elora inspected the objects both offensive and defensive, gathering sand-sprinkled dust while awaiting a conflict either mock or real.

I wonder... When was the last time the dragons actually fought in any sort of real battle?

Glancing to Spyro, his head level with her shoulder height as she walked, her lips parted to present the contemplation, only for it to remain unspoken as they entered the open bowels of the structure's main floor, discovering the varying colors, builds and scars of four large dragons gathered together. Finding their attentions were entirely focused toward their arrival, Elora's fingers curled beside her hips, sneaking behind her back as her gaze rose up to the quartet of faintly familiar elder dragons and their large quirked eyes.

"Spyro! Been ages, tenderfoot!"

"Who's the miss with the big hair?"

"That's the lad's girly, Elora, of Avalar I 'bleve."

Nodding from the correct vocalization, the faun took in a preparative breath, looking across their amused smiles and smirks above bulky crossed limbs and leaning statures.

"I imagine a forest forager has good reason to come around our sandy slice of paradise... What can we do for you, young ones?"

Yielding to Elora with a seat onto the cool floor beside, Spyro watched as her hands unclasped from above her tail, arms swinging forward.

"I... Would like to learn how to use a weapon. And then buy one."

Trading several glances among themselves, at first with perked eyebrows, the three muscular beasts of the bunch looked to the grunts of a massively rotund, wide-spiked dragon, peach in color with dark red wings behind his formidable belly. Leaning forward from his seat on the floor, the heavy-set reptile inspected Elora's slender build with a bassy hum.

"Don't mind me saying so, little lady, but you don't look the type for swinging your own weight around."

Pushing free from his nearby lean, revealing a shield bound to his wrist and segmented armor strapped to his shoulders, the bulk of a crimson and stubby-winged dragon rose upright, looking down his nose at his overweight comrade.

"Frankly, Magnus mate, I don't think anyone else swings your sort of weight around."

Patting his belly with a heavy laugh, the sumo-esque dragon reclined against the wall in a chuckle, jostling a crooked painting hung near as the red and armor-donned dragon then turned his attention to the faun.

"Name's Ulric, for starters. Do tell us, miss Elora, are you looking to bring the fight up close and personal...?"

Crossing his arm, with the shield now protecting his front in a turn, the yellow-bellied soldier then reached outward, claw pointing directly at her.

"...Or are you looking to reach out and hit them from afar?"

"Bah, where's the fun in that?"

"Keeps your wings from getting torn up."

"She doesn't have any."

Looking left, pointedly at the holes and tears lining the outer fringes of his comrade's yellow and green wings, Ulric grunted as a dreadlock-haired Trondo beside him scrutinized Elora, and then withdrew the curved length of a blade from a sheath, spinning it around his digits several times, and then catching the steel tang within his bandaged grasp.

"If you ask me... She looks to be the sort for carrying a good simple knife for her travels."

Attention turning finally to the spotted tan and purple fringes of the fourth dragon, heart beating from the steadily increasing interest on his expression, Elora remained firm as Boris stepped closer to her, lowering to a kneel. His paw then rose, and a single clawed toe brushed along the rim of her left ear, inspecting the split scar present and allowing her to look at his severed horn in detail, once long and pointed like the other.

"Regardless of your choice, Elora, knowing how to defend your hide is just as important as knowing how to attack... I imagine you don't want to wind up like myself. Half a horn and still missing the damn thing."

Exhaling from the soldier's sincerity, curious about the iron bell on his spiked collar, Elora's eyes lowered to her hooves beneath, considering each dragon's statements.

"Oh, and one more thing, Miss Elora."

"Yes?"

"You do understand that suitable training with weaponry of your choosing, is not an immediately gained affair."

"I understand."

"If you do still wish to learn, be ready to spend a number of days around these parts."

Looking aside to Spyro as Boris rose upright, the younger plum dragon shrugged with indifference from Elora's asking glance. Tilting from his smile she adored on his cheekbones, Elora's vision wandered back across the weathered floor, rising up to the quartet of also-weathered elders.

Don't have anything planned after our last trade trip, so... "I'm ready."

"Ready for...?"

"Whatever any of you show me first."

Numerous eyes blinking from the pause that followed, all four adult dragons burst into motion, and Elora grinned as she was ushered along in good cheer by both shoulders towards a stairwell near, leaving Spyro seated with amusement from the enthusiasm his girlfriend seemed to summon out of his elders. Looking on as the congregation turned and tromped upstairs, listening to the slow fade of heavy footfall, Spyro then rose to his feet, ambling forward to the doorway on the far end of the room.

Wonder what she'll end up trying? All I've ever seen her use is Hunter's bow... For target practice.

Claws clicking on the sand-sprinkled stone, he nudged through one of the great doors with his horn, squinting from the glare of morning's streaming sunshine beyond.

I bet she'll do great, no matter what.

Padding into the undulations of wind-blown dunes, Spyro then spotted the silhouettes of two other dragons near to the stored cannons lining the cliff wall. Paws spreading to maintain traction in the sift, his vision discerned the giant stature of Bubba, conversing with who he then recognized to be Andor.

"Spyro! Morning to ya."

"Morning."

"How goes bodyguarding the babe?"

Slowing to a halt, his tail weaved with interest from the topic, and a brand new word.

Babe...? "Ahm, going fine. Mostly. Had a little run-in with some rhynocs not that long ago."

"Venturing fairly far to encounter those brutes."

"Yeah, we have. That little ordeal is why Elora is here too. Also..."

Sitting onto his rear, and then rising onto his hind legs, Spyro leaned back amid his stance, doing his best to maintain balance on the squishy soil.

"I want to be stronger."

"Oh?"

"All of me. Legs, wings, other things."

"Ho ho, the day has come at last!"

"The lad wants to bulk up for his girly!"

Smiling from Andor's chuckling remark, Bubba stepped forward, flexing giant labor-hardened muscle of his upper limbs, and Spyro collapsed onto his rear from the display, trapping his tail beneath.

"Mmmmaybe not that big, but, enough that I could, I don't know... Pick Elora up and just carry her away from trouble, or something."

"Ahh, rescuing his true love from the fray. Now we're talking."

"Carrying others to safety in the midst of conflict and crisis is a feat of strength and nobility... And by all means, you have the heart for both."

Smiling from Andor's words as he knelt before him, Spyro patiently observed the elder's inspection of his own profile, paws squeezing and nudging various spots of his limbs.

"Your legs are filling out good, traveler... Lets turn that lean into mean."

Blinking as Bubba lowered down, scooping his massive arm beneath the younger male and hoisting him off of the sand entirely, Spyro grunted as he settled onto the solid curvature of the blue elder's broad and sculpted shoulder, bobbing with the beast's upright motion as he and Andor walked forth into the desert sun.

"What's the first step?"

"Weight training, of course."

"Okay!"

"For your legs, and your wings."

"Right."

"Then flying stamina."

Peeking at his shifting flight surfaces, Spyro squinted, his maw parting for a counterpoint.

"I mean, I can fly just fine."

"Have you carried anything while flying?"

"Portal glides don't count."

Letting his open mouth lower and shut, Spyro's eyes sank to the parched ground passing beneath as both of his muscular elders laughed.

"That said, your wings are limbs in themselves, Spyro. Right now they may be strong enough to lift you into the air and keep you in a glide... But how is your hovering?"

"Getting there."

"Have you flown straight up without jumping forward?"

"Nope."

"We'll take care of that one with weight lifting then."

Chest deflating amid the jostling travel astride Bubba's shoulder, Spyro then looked back to the fortress the three of them were steadily distancing from.

"Looking for your girly?"

"She doesn't know I'm out here."

"She'll be fine, lad."

"I know. I just didn't get a chance to tell her where I was going." Where are we going, anyway?

"The day's still young, and we'll be back by nightfall for dinner, eh? You can meet up with her then."

"Dinner. Gotcha."

"Spit-roasted vulture."

"Good solid protein's the way to reload cannons like these."

Watching the rise of Bubba's opposite arm in a vertical flexing, Spyro looked forward, heart beating with an infusion of resolve.

Elora's probably jumping right into her thing... She's ready for that, and, I'm ready for this!

Straining upward with teeth clenched, Spyro's nostrils flared with repeating drafts of labor as he hoisted a good sized rock upward with his forelegs, toes clamped around the iron handle stuck into it. Chin pointing into the pale blue sky, hearing nearby hoots of encouragement from the two elders observing his effort, his wings flapped errantly amid singular steps of balancing, not entirely sure about getting airborne without leaping forward. Exhaling embers in release from the effort, his curled limbs slackened, allowing the rock to drop into the sand with a poof of dust. Staring at the weight in his grasp, grunting with determination after a break of respiration, he then bent his rear legs, and hoisted the chiseled block of stone back into the air, rising back into a standing stature. Managing a step backwards, he then bumped into the newly arriving hide of Andor, who peeked at him with a lean around.

"Keep at it, lad."

"Nngh."

"Got to build up the material before you shape it into a sculpture."

"Ahh, hah, yeah. Sure."

Lowering the rock to his plated waist, Spyro's slender forelimbs shook, bottom toes curling as he heaved the rock higher again, peeping toward Andor with one eye.

"That stone there probably weighs half as much as your girlfriend, just so you know."

Eyes widening as the rock lowered a little more abruptly than intended, Spyro's snout wrinkled as he heaved it to shoulder height again.

"I'll g-get there."

"You certainly will. There, and beyond."

Trying not to smile from the encouragement, Spyro scrutinized the faceted chunk in his grasp.

I'll lift her up and away, and walk with her too. You wait and see...!

Just, keep, flapping... "Up!"

Rising in a nearly-vertical heading, wings sweeping with deft swipes of lift, Spyro focused on the cracked ground beneath his bobbing ascent, hoisting his own mass into the sky. Chest heaving, and legs swaying with each flap, he slowly gained altitude from the constant laboring of his orange and gold limbs.

Its a hover. Just, up! Hover, up!

Finding his right rear leg pulling taught again, with a knot of rope around its ankle, he peeped down to the reclined posture of Boris beneath, holding onto the rope lead he was tethered to. Flapping a little harder, seeing the elder's arm rise from his side below, Spyro then lessened his airborne effort, allowing himself to lower back to the parched grit in a controlled descent. Plopping onto the earth and collapsing onto all four limbs, the plum dragon then shook his head, shoving himself back up into a standing posture.

"Doing great, champ."

Eying the tan half-horned soldier laying beside, Spyro leaned back in a sigh, gazing into the sky.

I wonder how Elora is doing... And what she's doing.

Maw parting, channeling a sizzling exhale, Spyro then sprung into a leap, wings taking over the slack of another difficult vertical ascent. Earning a slightly better view of the rocky area, Spyro turned aside in mid-air, spotting Bubba's distinct dark blue shade repeatedly curling with an entire boulder in his grasp, with Andor kneeling on his lower paws for spotting.

She probably has no idea I'm doing this.

Seated in the square corner of a stone bench surrounding an also-square fire pit, hidden among the second-story barracks of the gateway fortress, Elora lay back against a ragged blanket stuffed into the corner. Reclining quietly, mind brimming with reflection of learned and observed information, the heat of the tidy indoor fire rippled back along her hooves, tempered by the cool breath of the desert's nightly breeze, tickling her neck from its passing swirls through narrowly opened window shutters. Bringing a half-consumed chunk of pickled cactus to her awaiting teeth, she severed another crunchy bite of the tangy succulent with a firm chomp, eying her crossed legs beyond in a lazy shift of focus. Swallowing the mouthful after a respectable mashing, the heavy footfall of an older dragon male neared, turning her ear, and then her head to identify the source. Then, with a spike of heartbeat, a limp Spyro appeared in the arms of Ulric, arriving to the glow of the fire pit from the low light of the adjacent stairwell. Not entirely sure how to feel about the sight of her boyfriend entirely absent of animation, the bloom of concern in her chest was countered by the kind smile present on Ulric's face, who then lowered in a presenting kneel, depositing a breathing and sleeping Spyro directly beside her. Immediately reaching aside and caressing his head, her fingertips traced around his nearer horn, meandering to his bristled crest in a reaching sweep.

"Lad's a bit wiped out after his first round."

"First round?"

Met with Elora's genuine curiosity, remembering Spyro's vocalization much earlier in the day, Andor nodded.

"He's been getting in some exercise."

Hearing chuckles of the fire's other guests, seated around the wiggling combustion and defined with silhouetted shadows, Elora looked down to his fully flat wing beside.

So that's what you've been up to.

At first observing Ulric's cross-legged seating by the small fire, unstrapping his protective plates and setting them aside, she then looked to a window near, with flickering firelight neatly framing the dark void of the desert night beyond.

Guess we're both working on things for ourselves.

Feeling a passing whisper of cool air teasingly ruffle her hair, her fingers drifted along Spyro's bumpy hide in repeating caresses, vision wandering along dimly lit objects hidden in the barracks beyond.

Have a feeling this place is going to be our refuge for some time... We've been traveling a lot lately, so, hanging around the same place for a while is probably going to be interesting. Especially a desert... Hot and hostile.

Imagining the variety of battle-worn weaponry presented and placed into her open palms, Elora's chest deflated in a sigh.

Probably exactly what I need if I'm going to learn how to attack other creatures.

Standing beside the dreadlocked mass of Trondo, both of them on the open rooftop of the fortress, Elora watched the manipulations of his large knife up in the open air, looking down between the dragon's motions at the etched and damaged bevel of the machete in her grasp.

"Turn it around, and hold it with the sharp side out. Yep."

Noticing the glinting of an emerald stone set into the hilt, vanishing amid a whirl of his blade around his claws, landing flat between his clamping fist, she peeked at his turning glance down to her.

"Doing this, you can sweep out in a slash, and if you need, bring it back in a stab. Slash, and stab. Left, and then right. Splice 'em, and then stick 'em."

Repeating his motions, turning her wrist and dragging the blade's tip through the morning air, and then pushing it straight out, Elora hummed.

"Splice, and stick."

"...And make it quick. The faster you move, the less time your opponent has to react."

Quickening her arm's movement, she blinked as Trondo's bandaged wrists swept across and back in a lightning-quick demonstration.

"...Before you know it, they're ribbons, and you're onto the next one."

Smiling from the elder's distinct dialect and lingo, she brought her hands together, transferring the blade to her left grasp, and an observant Trondo nodded.

"Works just the same if you're one of those left-handers. If you're both, then you can dual-wield, and that makes things a bit more interesting."

Lifting the diamond point of a Kunai from an unseen pouch, he spun the second weapon by the ring affixed to its butt, winking at the faun and her widened eyes.

"Twice as many sharp points to give the baddies twice as much to think about."

"I'll probably stick with one for now."

Teeth revealed more by his amusement, Trondo leaned closer to the upright female.

"One is more than enough for most anyway, no worries."

"...After that, we went through a few more moves, and how to block."

"Block... What?"

"Another knife. Or a punch. Anything coming at you."

"Oh. Could roll."

"I could. But I'm holding a sharp pokey thing."

"Yeah. True."

Eyes meeting Spyro's weary glance, his shortening answers evident of another day of repetitive exercise, she stirred from his visible fatigue, sprawled on the old blanket beneath both of them.

"There's a couple of ways to dodge but... You're looking really tired."

Leaning forward, crawling closer and sitting beside him, tucking her knee beneath his idle wing, Elora's hands sank onto his flank in a gentle landing. Firmly massaging his hide with sweeps of fuzzy fingers moving along scale and muscle, his nostrils puffed in a lengthy seep of relaxing deflation.

"I am."

"You've been working hard."

"Mmmf."

Humming from his guttural groan felt in her fingertips, her digits drifted along his bumpy back, squeezing his shoulders in repeating contractions.

"You're doing great though. Everyone keeps telling me."

"Not feeling great."

"Pain is weakness on its way out."

"Ungh... Its taking the long way out."

Giggling quietly, she sank down onto him, embracing his backside and pressing kisses into his neck and cheek.

"Well, long or not, you rest and sleep, okay?"

"Kay."

"I love you." ...So much!

Head turning from her whisper, bumping her nose and her returning lips, Spyro's cheekbone curled upward beneath firmly shut eyes.

"Love you toooooo."

Darting forward, actively swiping a dagger at a heavily-impacted wooden shield held by Boris, Elora's hooves firmly clacked on the dusty tile, echoing off of nearby walls. Slashing another divot into the tough old wood, the shield then sank low, twisting sideways and approaching with appreciable speed, only to be met with her leg's counteracting kick. Halting the shove with a defensive stomp and bracing firmly against it with her athletic shanks, a crouching Boris lowered the shield to the dusty surface beneath, his melee movement effectively cancelled by her swift lateral motion.

"Damn. Usually that works."

Tilting up with a grin as the dragon withdrew from the idle position, lifting the shield back to shoulder height, Boris lowered his chin onto the top edge of the hefty planking, bumping the bell on his collar as Elora resumed a regular standing stance, facing him.

"I like your style, E."

"She's got solid and speedy legs mate, watch yourself."

Trading hands with the double-edged dagger, glancing at her bandaged forearm, Elora exhaled from the tingle of a healing cut beneath.

Still working on quick arms...

Staring outward at the sun-bleached terrain, vision blurring the heated landscape even more, Spyro heaved an iron-handled rock upward with flaring nostrils, and with a grimace of determination, he kept the rock against his stomach, and began flapping his wings, jaw clamped tight as the sand beneath his feet vanished in a labored rise into the hot air.

Dead... Lift... Cause you're dead after, enough, lifts...

Concentrating on the forceful strokes of his wings, with legs braced straight and firm, the plum reptile hoisted himself and the large rock straight upward, throat growling and wisps of smoke exhausting. Then, after an uncertain peaking of altitude, wings screaming with growing aches, he lowered into an accelerating descent, only to flop belly-first onto the giant arm of Bubba. Turning in matching peeks, with Spyro puffing from still holding the heavy rock, Bubba eyed the young reptile's improving definition with a pleased smile.

"You're coming right along lad... Do believe a certain craftsman caught wind of your workout."

Looking forward, the distinct green and vested profile of Nestor arrived in his sight, padding through the sand far from his usual domain. Eyebrows quirking for differing reasons, Spyro attempted a vocal greeting, only for the Artisan leader to lift the weight in Spyro's grasp, relieving the younger male of the heft and freeing his paw for a fist-bump.

"Thanks."

"Should have told me you were out here for a workout, Spyro. Could use your help with my current build."

"Ah, heh, sorry. Had some trouble in the outer realms, so Elora and I came here earlier."

Inspecting Spyro's drooping front legs, Nestor set the weight aside into the sand.

"Is she weight training also?"

"That'd be a sight."

"Nope, she's learning knife fighting."

Arms crossing and chin rising, the Artisan elder hummed, a smile of interest growing on his snout.

"Blades, for a peaceful grazer..."

"Nestor, mate, that's the thought we're all having, but she's determined. Trondo's taken charge of teaching her his craft."

Squinting at Spyro, who nodded quickly in confirmation, Nestor smiled from sight of his favorite nephew deflated over Bubba's outstretched arm.

"Anyway, kiddo, I hear you're doing great with the weights. Soon you'll be as strong-bodied as you are a strong head."

"Hey..."

Hearing the surrounding population of elders laugh, Spyro rolled his eyes, unable to resist smiling anyway from the friendly jab.

"...Maybe."

Spyro... You're not... The only one... Exercising!

Pulling her own weight upward, arms curling toward her tight grasp of leather straps surrounding the middle of a large lance, Elora's eyes remained on the wispy clouds high in the afternoon sky, nearing them with each upward heave.

"Get those arms nice and tough, and you'll have a bit more natural armor for any fights."

"A little bit, mind you. Actual armor is still advisable."

"Okay mister literal. Stronger muscle makes for more forceful movements."

Grinning amid exhale, Elora's arms relaxed, suspended between Andor's bright blue bulk, and the rigid golden-yellow posture of Conan.

"Wearing armor, and holding... A shield, needs tougher arms, yeah?"

Finding the mustard-colored soldier nodding in agreement, the faun peeped aside to Andor, her auburn arms slackening after another pull.

"Wearing protective weight also slows one's self down too. Keep that in mind."

Vision rising to the flared circumference of the lance's damaged handguard, dangling from the padded shaft, Elora's lips pursed, allowing her arms to rest amid a gentle sway, follicles damp with sweat.

Speed, versus protection... Can't quite have both. Whoof. Do dragons sweat? Its hot out today.

Biceps tremoring, hoisting her own mass up in one final pull, she then released her grip of the lengthy weapon, landing onto the flat tiled roof with a solid echoing landing.

Hope you're hanging in there, Spyro. I'm looking forward to the cold night air as much as you probably are.

Hurrying up the fortress' internal stairwell, claws clicking on the slabs of each step, Spyro pushed himself back upright several times during the ascent, intent on arriving in the barracks standing. Rounding the top, paw grasping and pushing free of a wrought iron railing, he ambled towards their small shared space in the barrack's storage room, only to find Elora already sprawled onto the floor, arms flat around her also-flat cheek squished into the floor.

Oh. Now you're all pooped... And sleeping.

Sinking down onto all four paws, nearing her resting profile in the room's darkness, Spyro gazed upon his partner's tiny movements, faintly illuminated by a giant rising moon peeking in through a narrow windowsill. Revolving in a circle of nesting, lowering onto the weathered fabric of the thick blanket beneath, he molded his aching muscles against her supple curvature.

Guess I'll show you later.

Tracing the edge of her ear with his snout, drifting along the velvet edge, he then buried his nose into her wild and free brunette hair, intaking the comforting familiarity of her scent.

I'm right here with you, my sweet treasure.

Lowering further onto the fabric with a weary slump, Spyro's eyelids shut after a lingering gaze of her facial features.

Good night.

Revolving in half-circle turns, bobbing from his wing's thrusts keeping him at a steady height in the open air, Spyro's paws remained clamped around the ribs of a turned handle, diligently ignoring the chiseled edges of the large sandstone rock suspended in front of his chest.

Vertical... Up, and down, without going forward. Also, left, and right, and left, and riiight...

Releasing a small trail of flame between his incisors, allowing himself to descend to the hot sift below, Todor's passing mention of incoming clouds earlier in the morning lingered in his mind, despite the actual absence of shade-bearing vapor on the horizon.

Come on. Anything to block this boiling sun.

Vision panning along the rocky ridgeline, coming and going among the wandering haze of heat and dust, Spyro dropped the rock in his grasp into the sand in front of his toes. Crossing his forelegs, muscle sore and throbbing from the lifting labor, his tail drifted around in a circle behind.

However long you're training for, Elora... I'll be out here, doing all this working out stuff. That way we're both ready for action by the end of it.

Smiling from the imagined visual of his girlfriend, confidently brandishing a blade against prospective foes, he arched back in a stretch, nose wrinkling from a sweep of desert grit carried by the warm breeze.

Toughening up in the desert, I guess... Not that we were ever really weak. I think. Maybe we've just been lucky, and quick to run away from things.

Squinting toward one lonely wisp of a cloud drifting across the pale blue sky, Spyro groaned, tail slackening behind.

Soon, I'll just carry you away from any trouble... After you cut them a bunch. Heh. That's gonna be a thing to see, whenever it happens. I don't think I've ever actually actually seen her purposefully harm someone... Besides that one with the chair. That was great.

Seated on the erosion-rounded peak of a jagged precipice, perched high and near to the prominent reinforced architecture of the fortress, Spyro fondly studied Elora's solitary practicing prances back and forth on the nearer rooftop. Seeing various draws of a blade from a belted sheath around her hips, covering the leafy green partitions of her dress with doubly-circling leather bands beside her rump, her motions transitioned into various combinations of brandishing, and thrusting out and across.

Dang.

Peering closer, admiring the toss of ponytailed hair from her twists, and the bounce and sway of her tail tuft, Spyro exhaled from the return of a pleasantly stiff breeze buffeting his warm hide. Standing firm against the weather-borne airflow, his tail weaved with interest across the ancient rock, behind rigid wings that no longer yielded to the wind's errant directions.

Clouds finally came... But you're still making things hot.

Vision wandering up and down along her sun-browned figure with each of her pauses, he then smirked from the glint of the crystal pendant on her collarbone, rolling and bouncing with each turn.

You're just hot, period. Wet, dry, hair up or down, standing or sitting or stabbing invisible bad guys... Hot liquid magma, making me feel like a volcano ready to erupt. I'm glad your fur doesn't burn from being hot, because you are, constantly. My scales should be singed when I touch your squishy softness... But instead, things go from soft to not. Heh.

Staring at her rump, glimpsing the intimate trail of off-white fur curving beneath her tail to her waist, his moistened tongue slithered out and back between dry purple lips.

Whenever we're not working our butts off all day... Got something to do, and its you.

Stretching back and forth, out of sight of the fortress' occupants gathered in various places within its walls, Spyro quietly groaned as he arched up in a backward bend, paws clutching the thick edging of the rooftop. Glancing to the waning moon illuminating the ocean's waves, his turned ear then realized the voices of a conversation from a window near, and he draped himself over the cool stone and iron, discerning the distinct dialect of Trondo, talking to Ragnar in a room beneath.

"You've been busy with the fur girl, mm?"

"Daily. She's coming right along with the knifing."

"Yeh? What sort?"

"All the basics I know."

"I mean what sort of blade."

"Oh."

"Been itchin' to forge something."

"Right, humm... She does good with the lighter ones. Single hand."

"So no sword, okay."

"Thinking maybe a Dirk."

"A what?"

"Might be too long, actually."

"Machete?"

"Maybe."

"Still too long?"

"She is smaller than us."

"So a small knife for us, decently sized for her."

"Yes."

"So... What kind of blade?"

"Actually..."

"M-Mate, pick one or I will."

"Dagger."

"Final answer?"

"Final answer. Knock in something nice on the tang if you can... Flowers, or a tree or vines, or something."

"Can do."

Smiling from the eavesdrop, shoving upward, Spyro sprung free from the rooftop with a hasty departure, banking into an immediate turn around and descending in a helix, lowering to a landing near the shore of the goo river and kicking tufts of shadowed sand as he landed on all fours. Hoisting upright with a push of forward legs, returning to his still-improving upright stance, Spyro tromped through the sand, listening to the singing of unseen crickets reverberating through the still air between the rocks. Clutching the large ring of one great fortress door, heaving the passage ajar enough to slip through, the sight of his flame-illuminated elders gathered around the indoor fire pit attracted his attention, as did the expected sight of fur-lined and hoof-tipped legs bent twice near the flames. Grinning more as the reserved clatter of his claws on the worn floor revealed his otherwise stealthy approach, he remained fully upright as he was met by the waft of heat from the neatly contained fire, front paws hanging idly in front of his chest. Slowing to a halt and leaning around the corner of the entry, he found a distracted Elora reclined on the ever-present old blanket with a clay plate of half-eaten items on her lap. Waiting as her ear turned, attuned to the now-silent arrival, her head rotated over and up to the dragon looking down to her, only for her fire-lit features to open and widen in surprise.

"Spyro!"

Scrambling onto her returning hooves, with the plate in her lap dropping onto the blanket with a muffled clatter, the faun shot up to her own full height, seeing her orange-tinted and formerly quadruped boyfriend patiently standing upright on his rear legs before her. Admiring the height of his stature horn-to-toe, with his tail hovering above the floor in a lazy back and forth sweep, individual breaths arrived and departed as she stepped up before him, taking hold of his paws that opened in matching turns to receive her.

"You're almost taller than me, my gosh."

"My horns are."

"And your wings... But not your noggin."

Beaming as she reached up and buried her fingers into his crest, their still-held limbs slackened, and her digits drifted down around his ear, curling onto his cheekbone. Electing instead to surge forward in an embrace, a giggle of delight left her bosom as he managed to stay balanced with a step back, his own toned muscle circling around her sides in return as her fingertips bumped along the dorsal ridge of his back.

"You're standing."

Heart beating from her hushed and elated whisper, Spyro's vision flitted beyond her locks of hair to several of his seated elders, watching the couple's meeting with visible amusement.

"The lad's found it within himself to rise up in the world."

Humming mirthily from Ulric's remark, Elora continued twisting Spyro left and right within her arms, irides twinkling with esteem.

"He really has."

Teeth showing, reflecting the firelight bouncing off his scales, Elora's heart thrummed from his ongoing stance, two-legged like her own.

Spyro... You're standing... You're my height! You're sooo handsome!

"Take five, E."

Sheathing the machete beside her hip, Elora stepped aside to the ledge of the fortress rooftop, leaning onto the wind-worn stone with her arms folding in supportive bracing. Pleased by the arrival of overcast clouds that also brought a cooler breeze, her calloused and bandaged fingers formed around the chipped edges, and she looked aside as Trondo slumped to a seat near her, leaning back against the same wall and spreading the length of his dreadlocks and muscular arms along it.

"How often does it rain here?"

"Not often enough."

Humored by the elder's gruff seep, moreso as he peeked over to his teal-eyed trainee with a smile, Elora looked on to the dunes and rock formations below, then realizing one of the iron cannons formerly parked near the cliff, was bumbling along in the sand. Peering closer to the slowly rotating wheels cutting channels through the bleached sift, the captured weapon then turned, revealing its rope tethering to a stiffly laboring plum-colored dragon, cheered on by several distant hoots and hollers.

That is you... Thought so. Still working out while I'm up here. Sexy strong purple boy. Come use those muscles on me when you're all done and rested.

"Something's got your eye."

Realizing Trondo's veiled remark, and her tail flitting eagerly behind her already perked rump, Elora turned away, blinking from the blush that threatened to burn through her cheeks.

"Just... Watching."

"Watching your love use his strength."

"Hey. Maybe."

"You know he thinks the world of you, E."

Beaming from the spoken fact, she adjusted her posture, lowering to a kneel.

"I know. He's my everything too."

"Spyro is something special. That mighty heart of his."

"Yes. I fell in love with it."

"I can tell. Mostly by the way you look at him every time he's near."

Containing the giddy whirl in her chest, Elora peeped aside to Trondo's unchanged posture.

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"Much as I'd like to... Us warrior types aren't well suited for romance. That's also without considering the twelve-year decree that us dragons live by."

Vision drifting away, Elora's chest emptied with a steady sigh into the cool wind.

Population control... "Maybe one day, yeah?"

"Maybe. I've found what I love in the meantime... Blades may hurt me here and there, maybe one will take my life one day, but at least they won't break my heart or lead me astray."

Letting the last word spoken linger in her mind, Elora then noticed the heavy plod of Magnus, holding a riveted iron bucket of similarly large circumference to his belly. Fully attentive to his approach to the bubbling purple lake, dragging the bucket into the viscous and hazardous goo and collecting a moderate amount, the sumo-shaped dragon inspected the gathered batch, turning back and waddling along the trail his stubby tail had previously cleaved into the sand.

"Why's he scooping up the goo?"

"Hm? Oh. We gather a few buckets here and there."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"If you fall into it, or if it gets dumped on you. We've done the latter a few times to the odd Gnorc that strays near... Stuff is effective and unfortunate for 'em."

"Oh my."

"Plus we're seeing if it can be made flammable."

"That's even worse."

"All's fair in war, E."

"I guess if you have an entire river of it..."

"We do, and honestly, that's the one part of this place that bothers me."

"The goo?"

"Hate it. Its in other places too. Just a strange part of this land we're on the edge of."

"I see."

"Should just be water, you know... Nice clear sparkling coastal waters..."

"Ooh. Yes please."

"Thankfully we have this whole ocean around us, or I would have dried up and blown away ages ago."

Turning from the whoosh of wings braking an inbound approach, Elora stood firm on the elevated rooftop as Spyro dropped to a hasty landing on all fours, eyes and smile equally wide with excitement.

"Elora! Hey!"

"Hey, you! You're all..."

Lips curling in cancellation of words as Spyro shoved himself up into a walk toward her, he readily held out his paws.

"Grab me and hang on."

"Huh?"

"My paws."

Eying his claw-tipped digits with increasing interest, peeking back up to his expression with brewing curiosity, Elora sheathed the knife in her grasp, and her fingers clasped around his wrists.

"Okay, ahm... Don't let go, alright?"

"A-Alright."

Squinting as his wings began flapping with laborious vigor, he rose aloft from the surface with easy heaves, and then with eyes locked together and mouths wide open, their arms stretched taught, and the earth disappeared beneath her hooves. Flitting down, seeing her departing shadow beneath her swaying shanks, Elora's attention shot back up to her boyfriend as he managed to hoist her closer to his face, grinning and breathing hard ahead of the mighty effort of his orange wings.

"Look at you!"

"I'm lifting you!"

"You are!"

Sharing mirthy grins as they bobbed in airborne suspension above the fortress, Elora glanced around with a twist, seeing the length of the rocky ridge guarding the desert peninsula, stretching far into the hazy arid horizon.

"Going down!"

Lowering together with a series of steady sinks, Elora's knees bent in a return to the flat stone beneath, with Spyro plopping onto his rear feet just beside. Eying the reptile as he sucked in oxygen to catch his breath, looking to her proudly while bent over in a hunch, she knelt lower, still keeping hold of his paws.

"Spyro... You know what this means, right?"

"What means, huh?"

"If you can lift me... You could probably carry me."

"Yeah? That-sah, sorta been the goal."

Nudging her chin into her shoulder, she peeked toward him bashfully, nudging all four of their hands together.

"If you carry me... We can fly. Together."

Sinking onto his rear with a settling slump, his head tilted.

"You've talked about that for a while."

"Its been on my mind, ever since I saw you fly freely around Summer Forest."

"Well then..." His throat buzzed in a hum, cheekbones revealing a returning smirk. "...Lets make it happen sometime."

Seated on half of a wooden cask, surrounded by a complement of the fortress' various soldiers within the main chamber, including the recent returns of an axe-wielding Titan and a sharp-toothed Gunnar, Elora's vision panned across the colorful roster of battle-hardened dragons. Distracted from writing, partly from Spyro sitting in front of her legs, her dark phoenix quill lay idle in her grasp, parchment bent over her lap, as stories of recent combat and adventure were regaled among comrades.

"Miss Elora."

Ear turning from the summoning, finding Ragnar on approach from the rear entry, the dragon's hammer-shaped tail weaved behind his proud stride, with a cloth sack bound in his grasp.

"Yes?"

Noticing the remainder of the elder dragons had since stopped speaking, Spyro discreetly smiled as many eyes followed the arrival of the magenta-colored and iron-trimmed beast.

"Your prowess in learning the way of the blade has been noticed."

"Oh, uhm, thank you! Trondo's a great teacher, honestly."

"He is, and you are an excellent student. As the smith of our Peace Keeping lands, I have something for you."

Watching the elder loosen the sack, also noticing the silence that blanketed the room's occupants, Elora remained still as a narrow cross-shaped object fought free of the cloth. Turning and presenting it to her in a kneel, her chest tightened as the item was discerned to be a newly sewn scabbard and belt, housing the the hilt and handle of a hidden blade. Hesitantly lifting the weapon for the first time, letting the dragon's arms lower to his knees in patient waiting, Elora brought the leather sheath to her lap, and with a tug of the ribbed handle, pinky pressing against the rounded pommel on the end, she pulled the blade entirely free with a stiff jerk, discovering the narrow glints of sharp pointed steel with a small gasp, nearly matching the length of her forelimb.

"Oh my." He just gave me a knife.

Bringing the newly revealed dagger closer to her nose in a vertical rise, turning it in place with several twists back and forth, her large eyes pored over the matching imprints struck into the wider tang of the double-sided blade. Discerning the spirals of a leafy flower stem, weaving around an elegantly inscribed 'E', punctuated by a bloom of petals just above, her vision altered focus from the slender weapon, to its creator knelt just beyond.

"It's lovely... Thank you."

"Lovely, and sharp, like your mind."

Beaming from the dragon's kind remark, glancing down to a proudly smiling Spyro turned up to her, Elora delicately tucked the blade back into its scabbard, and with a turn of pulling aside her backpack, shoved her parchment and quill inside. Rummaging through the bag's deceptively spacious interior, tongue sticking out to the audible amusement of several witnesses, Elora then pulled free a good-sized chunk of raw gold from her bag, thrusting it toward Ragnar and then plopping it onto his opening palms.

"I have something for you. For giving me this."

"Gold? Are you certain?"

"I told you all I wanted to buy a weapon, and I'm a trader by trade. One thing for another."

Nodding firmly, rising to his feet with a perking brow, the weapon's smith looked over the valuable chunk with a growing smile.

"Malleable, and precious... Hope you don't mind if I reform this one."

"Its yours. Do as you wish."

"Thank you, Elora."

Meeting the reptile's momentary bow with her own mirth, Elora shuffled aside and dropped off the cask onto her hooves, and with several precise steps forward, she wound the newly crimped and stained belt around her waist, buckling it to a pleasantly apt fit, and then resting her palm on the spherical tip of the dagger, now a resident of her waist. Finding Trondo stepping forward as the reptilian population gave various forms of rowdy applause, her knuckles curled, meeting the dreadlocked dragon's giant fist with a friendly bump.

"Now you won't be borrowing our lot anymore. Got your own piece to practice with."

"I'll splice and stick them."

"Roger that, E."

Peeking back across her shoulder, seeing Spyro standing in a lean on the cask, both creatures fondly eyed the other with prideful grins.

This is what we were after. You're armed with a knife and knowledge, and I'm... Sore, but stronger.

Padding through moist and bright sand, bleached by the arid light and worn to near oblivion by the unrelenting courses of time and the waves, both Spyro and Elora meandered along the narrow length of a beach skirting the colossal brown rocks of the desert realm. Having managed to glide together from the fortress rooftop, in search of seclusion and now walking upright along the found shore of the cliff coast, the couple of nearly-matching stature kept hold of the other's digits, with toes clawed and not sloshing through the crest and retreat of visiting waves. Turning from an outward sweep, passing jagged obelisks spearing the otherwise flat horizon of light blue, Elora squinted in delight as a breeze-blown mist swept past, freckling the finer fur of her face with the ocean's errant spray. Peeping to Spyro beside, maintaining his bipedal walk that frequently garnered her observation, his golden crest rippled from the coastal air, much the same as her auburn locks, turned in a ribbon-bound ponytail and reaching across her collarbone.

Meeting his companion's doting expression nearly at eye level, feet and then knees submerging as their travel remained straight, Spyro's attention remained drawn to the glints of her teal gems, even as they progressed lower into the temperate surf that pushed and pulled his tail. Seeing her teeth peek out, moreso as she looked to the high ridges of the towering rock, with cleaved and cracked facets deflecting the glare of the afternoon sky, a breath squeezed from her lungs as a playfully potent wave pushed past. Bumping into Spyro bodily, pleasantly reminded of the rigidity of his stature, she settled into his features with a seep, ceasing their plod as the bottom leaflets of her dress and the tip of her blade's scabbard swayed with the current.

"Hey."

"Hii."

Fangs peeking from his maw with mirth from her little whisper, Spyro's limbs and wings encircled her in a dual embrace, shading her beneath his flight-granting hide. With a turn down and her nose's nudges up along his chin, aligning with familiarity, dry lips nudged together in a supple nuzzle, and nostrils contracted from the other's distinct scent. With a subtle twist lower, tongues prying free and offering saliva to the equation, Spyro leaned into Elora's stature, affirming her arriving kiss with returning motions of his own. Vision obscured by the flutter of eyelids and the water's teasing spray, drying on his hot scales, he stood firm, unyielding to the water and the wind as Elora's strong fingers curled around his wingstem, squishing her arm into his muscle with a squeeze of adoration. Finding her mammalian lips peeling away, she then nestled her nose into the front of his large snout, eyes peeking open and inspecting the speckled bridge leading to his huge irides, like that of a purple cobblestone path.

"Was thinking."

"Mm?"

"This is the longest we've stayed in any one realm. At least, in recent memory."

"Oh. Yes. I think we've been here for... Maybe a month?"

"I've seen one full moon come and go, so, I think you're right."

Irides meeting, visibly dilating, Elora's tail gently swayed behind her rump.

"Are you wanting to leave?"

Vision darting upward, to the cliff's crevices framed between his great horns, her cheekbones rose in a smile.

"Its not that I don't like it... This place... Its harsh, but beautiful in its own way, and I do like your family. And the pickled cactus, but..."

"But, something isn't right, right?"

Elora's arm unfurled from his backside, and her hands came together on his sides, thumbs dragging along the ridges of his plated belly.

"Its not that it isn't right... I just miss the sweet green of trees and grass, and the singing of leaves in the wind. That's all."

Reveling in the pleasantry of her fond recollection, admittedly in tune with his Artisan rearing, Spyro's wings broadened in an unfurl, fanning outward along his sides.

"Let's go to Avalar."

"O-Oh, well... Right now?"

"You were just telling me about the homeworld you miss, and being stuck missing things within reach is lame."

"I'm... That's true, but, not yet."

Blinking patiently, Spyro eyed his companion as she shyly grinned.

"Okay. Not now. Is tomorrow fine?"

"Tomorrow is fine."

Looking on across her bare shoulder, taking in the sweep of moisture enveloping her lower knees and speckling across her feminine features, her head tilted, lazily hiding her wistful gaze to the hazy horizon.

"Give me one more night here, and then I'll be good."

"Me too."

Looking back to Spyro's simple utter, her brow perked.

"...We took care of the things we were after. I'm ready when you are."

Peeking down to the glints of the hilt of her dragon-forged dagger, her palm settled to rest on top of the shaped and fiber-banded pommel, and her other hand meandered down to his awaiting digits, tucking in among his claws and taking hold of his large reptilian paw. Turning toward the dryer sift of the narrow shoreline, resuming their walk together in a coalescent pace of heartbeats and unfettered admiration, they rose out of the ocean's playful wash, legs dripping and toes slender and broad brushing through the sand.

"Let me know when you're hungry, and we'll start heading back."

"Think we can fly?"

"Not the whole way, but, maybe part of it."

Grinning, and nudging her shoulder closer into Spyro beside, Elora squeezed his paw, feeling the points of his claws curl into her knuckles in return.

"You've got this, mister wings."

Rolling away from her playful remark, Spyro grunted, toes spreading into the blanket of pale grit.

"Maybe."