Moonspear war stalks proud

Drogon hears the light and swift steps of a quick approach but thinks nothing of it. Mistake. His disregard of it allows Hydra to hook her foreleg to his rear leg. By the time Drogon realizes what is happening his balance is thrown and he is colliding to the cold, hard earth. It is not an elegant fall. Drogon is tall but he is all hard, thick muscle and his fall is hard and rough. The impact jolts through him and he half growls, half rasps out “Fuck!” in shock as he rolls onto his back, taking his weight off the shoulder that smarts from absorbing the most and worst of the impact. “Y’know when I wanted to get swept off my feet, I didn’t mean literally.” Drogon (partially) jokes with his mentor as he lets his head fall back against the earth, testing out his shoulder. His plush pelage offers some cushioning but not enough and there is a soreness that radiates from the junction but nothing he deems serious. It will fade in a day or two, he deduces. “Well played. Very dirty.” He remarks impressed ( though Drogon isn’t sure that he’s ever come across a moment where he wasn’t impressed — and a bit awe-struck — by Hydra ) as he attempts to roll to his stomach and get to his feet.