Cerulean Cape i let all my love rot inside me

“That’s fine,” Drogon interjects quickly when she admits that she doesn’t know where she is going. “I don’t know where I’m going either.” He’s accustomed to it by now. Just so long as his path keeps him away from Blackfeather Woods. It is not fear that conjures that thought but exasperation. He has more important things to do; but still the further he could keep away from their dark woods the better. She seems rather indifferent when she replies, and he squints at her for a second and then away from her, at the sea, as he process her words of: “I guess”, as if she couldn’t be bothered either way. Perhaps, the soturi thinks, she isn’t. “Why’s it about what I want?” It was true that he asked but he was hesitant about forcing his presence anywhere if it wasn’t really wanted ( which is a surprise to him ). “Do you want company?” He presses, with no intention of letting it go. “If you don’t want me hanging around then I’m not going to.” He’ll …move on. Something he’s startlingly good at doing. Moving on. Moving forward without so much as a glimpse backwards. The past was the past for a reason and his future, the ‘what will be’ interested him far more than the ‘what was’.