The Horn of Winter lay quietly on the ground, enormous and black, its ancient runes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
King Ghidorah's left head drew closer, almost touching the horn.
Its molten-gold slit pupils fixed on it, nostrils flaring as low, eager rumbles rose from its throat. Even the tip of its tail unconsciously tapped the ground, stirring up fine sand.
It looked for all the world like a large cat that had spotted its favorite treat.
Watching this striking contrast, Aegon felt both amused and thoughtful.
He curled a finger and gently tapped the hard scales near the left head's eye.
"Want this?" he asked softly, lifting the horn.
The left head immediately bobbed up and down, its movements so vigorous that they stirred a gust of wind. Its purring grew louder, its gaze glued to the horn with undisguised longing.
The commotion "roused" the other two heads from their doze.
The central head slowly rose, its draconic eyes half-open. Its majestic gaze swept over the horn, then turned to Aegon, scrutinizing and weighing.
It was far more composed, merely drawing a little closer to carefully sniff the faint, ancient chill emanating from the horn. A low, steady hum sounded in its throat, as though it were assessing something.
The right head seemed somewhat impatient. It tossed its head irritably and gave a loud snort tinged with sparks, glancing at the horn before looking at the left head's "greedy" expression.
It made a rasping sound in its throat, as though disdainful of its companion's lack of restraint. Yet its gaze lingered for a few more seconds before it lay back down, its pricked ears betraying its continued interest.
Three heads, three reactions.
Aegon's gaze moved between them before returning to the heavy black horn in his hands.
Mance Rayder