Sleeping Dragon Here comes the future, it’s violent and bright

Toxochelys leaned forward with a stretch of his long, powerful limbs as Thuringwethil closed the distance between them. With just a step or two forward, he touched the scarred bridge of his muzzle to the Commander’s chin out of deep respect and as a nod to shared interactions of the past. He was not near to her as those of her enclave were, but there was a degree of understanding between them, if not tepid familiarity. Once he had acknowledged this, he collected his weight a little more evenly beneath him, causing him to shift back ever so slightly.
 
Without being asked, Thuringwethil accommodated his voracious curiosity by briefly describing the events that had transpired the previous year. At most, the tawny male had heard fleeting murmurs, and he had certainly not asked for information from the mouth of anyone he didn’t trust. He’d known few of Seageda and even fewer of Trigeda whom he felt would confide to the extent his lofty expectations desired.
 
"I returned from training in the north to find both the greenery and the Aloadae gone," he explained, "so I travelled south." His half of the unspoken information bargain was delivered about as concisely as hers had been. He had never been convinced one way or another, and so he said nothing more, but the reasoning had weighed on his mind in the beginning. Had the locusts actually driven them out, or had their unattached natures led them elsewhere after generations of caring for that swath of coast? Perhaps, having known them even on an essential level, Thuringwethil would assume the latter.
 
"I’m here because your scent on these borders diverged with my path," he rumbled roguishly. With no ties to speak of, his "path" had become a labyrinth.