Hushed Willows my bones are headstones, darling

since this thread is over 2 months old i went ahead and edited an ending on it so it could be archived. :-)

Drogon’s ears cup forth and swivel back as she laughs off his question and he rolls his broad shoulders in response. If this Rannoch guy wanted to be in charge of a bunch of kids then that was his prerogative and it wasn’t any of the tundrian’s business to dissect it. There is a furrow of Drogon’s brow, a twitch of his tail against his hocks as she puffs up at his drilling questions and snaps ( even if she doesn’t actually snap at him it’s how he’ll perceive it ) an explanation at him …except the soturi doesn’t recall asking for one. That might have been the point he was working towards or perhaps he was just questioning to sate his own curiosity and was never going to ask that specific question. Regardless, he has an answer to a question he’s not asked and she is prickly and defensive. He offers her an incredulous expression, ears pivoting atop his head as he lets out a half-chuckle. “Ok,” He gives a small pause here, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls. “well…good for you.” Drogon’s not sure how to respond, teetering on the edge of satisfied curiosity and indifference on the matter because it’s not really any of his business why she stays despite her condescending responses. He’d certainly never stay at a pack he wasn’t happy in but that was just him.

Drogon lingers for a few moments longer before he sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I gotta go." It was brisk, curt even and lacking the elegance of a formal goodbye. He doesn't necessarily mean for it to be as such but it is and he makes no amends to fix it. He gives his coat a shake, stretches to loosen the stiffness in his legs from staying in one spot for a time and trots off, disappearing into the willows.