Stavanger Bay we are graveyards reaching, with haunted bones

Drogon's ears swivel and slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull as Sunspot turns down his offer to escort her to a pack territory after a giggle, telling him that she’s a big girl and he almost opens his mouth to assure her that he hadn’t been trying to insinuate that she couldn’t take care of herself but holds his tongue. He’d been trying to be chivalrous — or, at the very least, as chivalrous as the soturi is capable of being — but he doesn’t push. He accepts her rejection with a lofty shrug of his broadening shoulders. His ears swivel atop his skull in contemplation as she lets him off the hook for his behavior that day, brushing it off, excusing it as “one of those days”. It hadn’t been: Drogon’s an ass to everyone pretty much all the time but if she isn’t willing to hold the grudge then he sees no need to keep picking at a healed wound. “See you around.” He echoes back at her with a partial smirk before he turns and heads in the opposite direction, idly wondering if their paths were destined to cross again.