Hushed Willows my bones are headstones, darling

Drogon, instead of returning where he left Casacada, veered west and headed down towards the Sunspire Mountains. He is filled with a restless energy since his altercation with the woman in the Rise and only realized afterwords that he never found out what had happened to the Rise to bring it to little more then charred ruins. …Not that there was any point in lingering upon it now. Perhaps a part of the soturi did not want to yet return to her because he is ashamed. Perhaps there had been potential to be found in the woman whom had named Cascada, whom had clearly spoken with her and he’d been a …what was the word she’d used? asshole and ended up chasing her off. Shame did not equal apology though, he tells himself, excusing his behavior. He was not apologetic for what the world had made him into and it was her problem to deal with if she let her pride or feelings be hurt by him. It did no good to keep dwelling upon it, though he knows, eventually, he will have to speak to Cascada about it, will have to tell her the truth. The tundrian will not lie and will own up to his fault in the encounter like a man ...whenever he got back around to her.

Still, he did not change his course. He kept going west, his pace slowing only when he approached a territory bordering the Firefly Ravine on one side and Emberflame Ridge on the other with a looming sentinel of a mountain peak to it’s back at the west borders. It was a valley, rich with trees whose boughs curled out from the trunk in spindly branches that whispered against the tall grasses that swayed in the fair early afternoon breeze. Drogon shrugs into the valley, ear twitching to dispel a branch that drags along the length of his growing body as he moves forward. The first few are sparse but the deeper he travels in the valley, to the heart of the Meadows, the willows are older and it is here they are large with boughs that spill upon the earth, thick and dense that he finds a nice one that offers shade from the unrelenting sun. The soturi settles into a sphinx-like position near it’s trunk where he nibbles lightly at a paw pad before his salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls as he rests his chin against his paws and closes his eyes giving the illusion of sleep though he does not fall to slumber.