Would not buck--for a moment, she recalls Drogo and his ways. How he would likely view it a challenge to tame the horse in front of her. Bend it to his will. That has her looking away from the animal, focusing on the other dragon on Lauralae's shoulder.
Lauralae takes a moment and hesitates, glancing up at Jon. It takes her a few seconds, but she nods her head, once, and speaks, her voice low and quiet - not entirely shy, but still not sure of what to make of him or what thoughts she ought to carry when it comes to him and his interactions with Daenerys.
"Kelytha means horse." And then she turns back to look at Dany herself. "He has, once. I am not pushing him."
He begins to wonder if the bird's name means bird, but doesn't ask. Still, when a horse is more than half wild, horse isn't a bad name for it. It's just what the animal is -- no more, no less. There is a dignity to it.
"Wild creatures do as they will. If Kelytha is your friend, it's because he wants to be." His voice is low too -- not shy anymore, though there was a time when it would have been. He isn't precisely a man of few words, but he is quiet, and there is a gentleness to him that isn't always common to men who know the wilds.
Something occurs to him, and he adds, "The dragon may spook him. Big dragons would eat up a horse in an instant. They usually know enough to be afraid."
That pulls a smile from her, faint but amused. Kelytha means horse. Easy to name something its name, just like when she calls a wolf a wolf in the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. Seems they've a few things they share in common.
Her focus drifts to Jon. "Some were always fearless." But she speaks of shifters and centaurs, not actual horses. It's not the same, as he'd likely remind her, oh so helpfully. "Kelytha's the luxury of time, I would say."
Assuming any of them have time, she doesn't say. Why even think it? That grave Stark-ness must be rubbing off on her.
"When we go to meet Poe--that's the one who will spin the illusion for them," a nod to the dragonets, "He'll need something of each. I think it's to bind the illusion to each of them, specifically."
It's a name but not a name all at once - another language, another tongue, meaning something simple but with warmth to it as well. Kelytha is going to be a good steed, a good horse, and she is going to do what she can to take care of her budding pack; her horse, her dragon, her bird, her friends. Dany and Jon are... Something, something that is hard for her to name, but...
She is careful as she looks between them, her gaze awkward and unsure before she breathes out. They're accepting of her, of her strangeness, her oddness, and she can accept it.
"I will get her to give me something," Lauralae nods, careful. She won't push Urmyria, but she is sure if she asks nicely enough... "If you trust in this... Then I will as well."
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"Has he allowed you to ride him?"
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"Kelytha means horse." And then she turns back to look at Dany herself. "He has, once. I am not pushing him."
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"Wild creatures do as they will. If Kelytha is your friend, it's because he wants to be." His voice is low too -- not shy anymore, though there was a time when it would have been. He isn't precisely a man of few words, but he is quiet, and there is a gentleness to him that isn't always common to men who know the wilds.
Something occurs to him, and he adds, "The dragon may spook him. Big dragons would eat up a horse in an instant. They usually know enough to be afraid."
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Her focus drifts to Jon. "Some were always fearless." But she speaks of shifters and centaurs, not actual horses. It's not the same, as he'd likely remind her, oh so helpfully. "Kelytha's the luxury of time, I would say."
Assuming any of them have time, she doesn't say. Why even think it? That grave Stark-ness must be rubbing off on her.
"When we go to meet Poe--that's the one who will spin the illusion for them," a nod to the dragonets, "He'll need something of each. I think it's to bind the illusion to each of them, specifically."
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She is careful as she looks between them, her gaze awkward and unsure before she breathes out. They're accepting of her, of her strangeness, her oddness, and she can accept it.
"I will get her to give me something," Lauralae nods, careful. She won't push Urmyria, but she is sure if she asks nicely enough... "If you trust in this... Then I will as well."