Moonspear and the dogs again, again —

wrap up with your post so we can have another one? :D

Drogon’s lips curl with unbidden smugness as she jumps when he hooks a paw around her leg and she topples down to the ground. “Next lesson,” He rasps. “Don’t ever assume you’ve won until your opponent surrenders.” He chuckles as her giggles fill the air. The weariness from traveling and their spar has begun to seep into the pleasant ache of Drogon’s muscles and he knows that he will sleep good when he finally makes his way back to his den. “You did good, ruhtinatar,” Drogon praises her as she rolls against him. The contact outside of the proverbial sparring ring leaves him with a creeping heat beneath the fur of his cheeks. “If you’re serious about becoming a mercenary Hydra is probably a better teacher than me,” He suggests to her, if only because he knows that her sister is a master warrior. Drogon is past his days of apprenticeship but he has yet to earn his mastery. “Or your dad,” though Drogon doesn’t know Charon well enough to actually make that assumption. They spoke once face to face and that was when Hydra first brought him here. “or I can teach you, if you’d like. I doubt you’re short on mentors here.”

“I hate to cut this short, warrior princess,” The Ansbjørn teases, “but I should probably catch a few hours of shut eye.” He can practically hear his den calling his name. He knows he barely started his patrol but there are plenty of hours in the dawning day for him to finish it, thus he’s not particularly worried about it. He stretches slightly and rolls onto his stomach and before Drogon can really think it through and stop himself he leans over and draws his tongue briefly against her muzzle in a small kiss. “Promise me you won’t patrol on your own?” Though it comes to mind that she could promise him and do it anyway — because that’s something Drogon would do ( as a matter of fact he has done it, it was what had led to his pup-knapping in the first place ).