The hatchlings spotted Fari before he reached Val, and immediately vanished behind their father's tail with a chorus of tiny mental squeaks.
Too big. Too red. Too scary!
Fari chuckled, the sound like rolling thunder. "So these are my niece and nephews. I didn't know they'd hatched yet, brother."
Val gave a tired, puffed-out snort. "They did just recently. Didn't really get the chance to tell you."
Yara stopped a few paces away, hesitant, hands clenched at her sides. The small dragons clung to Val's flank, peeking out like kittens from under a blanket.
The air between them thrummed with too many unsaid things—pain and longing and the quiet ache of people who had nearly lost everything.
Fari noticed immediately. His sharp eyes flicked between the two of them, reading the tension, and once again, his expression softened.
"You two need to be adults," he rumbled, voice low enough that only they could hear.
