>>5534181Your sons assemble before you. By now, they are each nearly as tall as you were two years prior, before you adopted your <Dragonshape> as a nigh-permanent state. If you were to measure them lengthwise—for they are constructed in almost centaur-like configuration, with elongated hindquarters—some would be larger than you are now. How much larger might they get, with a much greater concentration of True Dragon blood in them thanks to the Novice's craft? They have plateaued for now, but you doubt this is the end of their development.
At present, the Princes vary slightly in size and shape, but each has eight limbs: two pairs or legs, dextrous forelimbs ending in manipulating ‘hands’, and (much to your delight) wings!
“Fall in,” you command.
Each of your sons bows his head in turn. One by one, you acknowledge them by the prestigious Draconic names which you granted them:
“Tudyvak, the Scout. Jepvysk, the Hunter. Lopfivik and Fidiefvik, the Terror Twins. Telovvisk of the Deep. Noptivisk, the Singer. Tonupask Ironclad. Gohjavisk Half-Dragon. Natvodask Unknowable.”
Your sons hum and chirp in delight at the names you gave them. You congratulate yourself silently on your foresight, for each seems apt. Tud is eager, energetic, strong-winged. Jep’s wings are not so large to allow flight as yet, but he is ravenous and savage, long-snouted like a crocodile and big of belly. Lop and Fidi are still close, always backing each other up against their larger siblings, just as heavy-shelled and flightless Ton continues to defend stubborn, defiant little Gohja—the runt even now, the only one of your sons smaller and lighter than you. Telov is cryptically-coloured, almost hairless, and a low-slung crawling thing; Nop is a scarlet-tinged peacock of a being. Nat… Is Nat. He has more eyes than the rest, an they often stare past and through you, in a way that is both frustrating and a little unnerving.
“You are finally large enough, and wise enough, to receive instruction,” you tell them.
Your sons buzz, shriek, and crow in foul, fellborn voices, speaking nonsense but plainly understanding you even as you speak the rue Speech. This makes them trilingual, you suppose, even as the remain nonverbal. The latter troubles you, but since they are not even two years of age, the former is astonishing enough to make up for it.