Firefly Glen crashing out into the noise

thank you for starting! ♥

Drogon does not venture too far from Moonspear. It seemed prudent to stay closer to the territory given the mounting tensions between them and Redhawk Caldera but the itch to stretch his legs for more than just a jaunt on the borders is strong and with the towering spearhead summit to his back he ventures into the neighboring glen. Though the night is illuminated with softened moonbeam light the glen is pitch black. The darkness swallows the Ansbjørn greedily, enveloping the wintersbane in it’s welcoming embrace. Drogon does not fear the dark — he finds it hard to fear it when he has lived in it's shadows within Blackfeather and once called those fathomless shadows home.

The soturi’s steps slow as the pungent scent of blood coupled with carrion draws his attention. It’s not hunger that bids the tundrian to follow the scent but rather that drive of innate curiosity. As he approaches, noting the scent of a coywolf the nearer he draws, his steps slow and movements taunt and cautious. He lets out a low chuff to announce his presence to the other that lingers in the shade of the adjacent and gnarled aspen tree. Drogon can make out a vague silhouette with piercing yellow eyes across the distance.