Sound the Hunting Horn
Predaking stormed through the nest, heedless of all others. It was time and past to begin the hunt. He checked sharply when he reached an unfamiliar opening, the small not-Raf organic from earlier standing directly in his path.
He cycled his optics once as he took in what the organic considered ‘armor’ - some strange fibrous material made into a sheet, connected to some strangely shaped hydrocarbons. Still, to each their own weapons and protections.
The other problem to be considered, of course, was that the organic had no wings. If the Raf-organic was anything to go by, the ground travel speed of organics was pathetic. He needed to finish this hunt quickly, for his sake and the sake of his captive packmate, but he was no common beast of burden!
Finally, he conceded it was the only way. Crouching, he looked the organic straight in the optic. “Where I go, and how I go, you could not follow unaided. Therefore you must find a place upon or within the armor of my true self and stay there until we have found their filthy nest and gained entry therein.”
Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and back and twisted onto all fours, stretching his wings in anticipation. He could hardly wait to fly again.
She tilted her head up, matching yellow eyes to the darkest shades upon the dragon's armor, mouth twisted in a cheerful grin. A axe, true as any fireman's, settled upon her back in leather straps, pulled from the old base and long since hidden away in her box, saved for occasions like this.
Heavy leather gloves insulate her hands as she pulls herself onto his body, climbing plates sharper than Bulkhead's; but hey, she's played enough Castlevania to know how to do these things, clambering from foothold to handhold with loose, easy movements. She's no Uchimura, but she's pretty pretty good at gymnastics nonetheless.
Predaking doesn't have the little crevices and padded insides that Bulkhead did, but she finds a space between his wings that she can wiggle into, hooking her legs around a beam and stretching herself out to cling to another. Hopefully, this isn't a place that's gonna squish her, but the only other place she can think of is his mouth, and ho-boy that looks like a sauna.
A knock against the inner plating, scratching at what looks like a bit of rust, and she chirped her ready.
