The dark elf trailed them, hard leather boots suited perfectly for the sharp and jagged terrain. He was careful not to bump into any trees, for fear that water would rain down upon them and the fire-bird would be doused. And his new master wouldn't like that. It was then a sudden thought struck him. Why was Prince Frey so tired? He was just taking a nap in the middle of the night! Oh, wait... humans were diurnal creatures, weren't they? That meant that if he did as he always did, he would be napping on the job! And that would be unacceptable. 

He stared blankly at the bird. He didn't appear to be one, of course, but Sverre's senses were rather sharp, aside from his sensitive eyes. He may have looked like a man, but Asbel had the smoky scent of what smelled of peacock feathers, though he doubted any human could identify it. "I am a dark elf. The night is my friend." He rasped slowly, struggling to talk. He noticed Frey sluggishly almost sleepwalking. "And I doused the prince with this urn," He murmured, gesturing to the clay jug he had fastened to his belt. "To wake him. He looked to be having quite a nightmare." 

Frey moved automatically, eyes wanting to shut from the cold wind. Not wanting to give in, he fought. All his life had fought. He had fought against his family, other royal families, servants, Bachus, and council members as well as soldiers. Anyone who stood in his way he always stomped without looking back. It wasn't as if obeying the prince saved anyone, either. He was intolerable either way, but in the palace, his presence was a way of life. He was something meant to be endured. 

Gritting his teeth, he wondered if anyone missed him or worried about him. He could bet more than a few of them were worried he [I]would[/I] be brought back in one piece. He was a tyrant to the servants, a brat to his family, and an enemy to the divine creatures in the pens, Cassius aside. And now, what did the black dragon think of him? More importantly, how would he bring himself to deal with it. 

They had arrived back st the campsite before he knew it, the prince slapping himself hard to stay awake. The sky, still pitch black, began to illuminate softly. It was a long way 'till dawn, but no longer total blackness. They could see it through the trees. He could tell by the pathetic half-finsihed tent that this was their camping site. 

He swallowed thickly, nervous because of the tension in the air. Forcing his eyes up, he stared stone hard at his brother and his dragon, though it was too hard to look Cassius in the eye so he just stared at Augustine. Sverre, absurd as it may have been, hid a bit behind Frey, crouching. "Brother. Dragon." He greeted formally, pridefully. He then stepped aside, giving everyone a better view of Sverre. "This is Sverre. He's coming with us," Frey declared matter-of factly even though he had no actual power or influence in this endeavor. 

He was tempted to apologize to Cassius, though he didn't. He simply pursed his lips tight, elbow squeezing Asbel's arm for reassurance. To say sorry would be to admit he was wrong, which he would never, ever do. But... "I... I didn't mean to... to throw..." He felt all eyes burning on him, and he felt like running away all over again. "I didn't mean to throw a tantrum." He finished with a huff.