Dragoncrest Cliffs my tongue is sour from the hunger of missing you

Thuringwethil stops when she can’t take another bite. Her body yearns for more but her stomach protest and she does not push it. She huffs a few down feathers from her face and licks her chops a few times to groom back the blood and debris. When she looks to Artaax idly testing in the grasses beside her, her quick turns to a long exhale as she settles herself similarly. The company does wonders, despite the lack of conversation. Silence had never been the lonely factor of company and for a while they lay there, watching wave after wave with a rocky consistency.