Moonstone Quarry hurt me? you can’t — i’ve got mounds of thick skin

“I don’t believe you,” the male purred, all confidence and machismo, and Eirlys merely smiled, shrugging a shoulder he couldn’t see. She was as aware of the odd chemistry between them as he seemed to be, and for a moment the cave was utterly still as the estranged twain held one breath, cleaved between two warring pairs of lungs. Rather than bantering back, he asked her something that didn’t make sense at first. “Tietysti,” she responded simply, her already piqued curiosity set ablaze. Her fur brushed his as she sidled past, moving into what appeared to be a narrow hallway whose walls were chill to the touch. Were they made of ice? She believed so, but without being able to see, she could only imagine. She rubbed her cheek against the wall, flews pulling back as she tested it gingerly with the curve of her fang. Not ice, she reflected, licking the ironsalt of the rock from her lips. “Everyone I know speaks tundrian,” she continued, her voice echoing enticingly as she moved further down the corridor. Okay, so that wasn’t precisely true.

Drogon didn’t know that, though.

“Oletko tulossa?” she asked sweetly, swapping to Common with a smattering of Quicksilver Hollow’s brogue, “Or do you have a curfew I’m interfering with, a dhuine uasail?”