Hushed Willows my bones are headstones, darling
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Ooc — torvi
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#1
All Welcome 
Drogon, instead of returning where he left Casacada, veered west and headed down towards the Sunspire Mountains. He is filled with a restless energy since his altercation with the woman in the Rise and only realized afterwords that he never found out what had happened to the Rise to bring it to little more then charred ruins. …Not that there was any point in lingering upon it now. Perhaps a part of the soturi did not want to yet return to her because he is ashamed. Perhaps there had been potential to be found in the woman whom had named Cascada, whom had clearly spoken with her and he’d been a …what was the word she’d used? asshole and ended up chasing her off. Shame did not equal apology though, he tells himself, excusing his behavior. He was not apologetic for what the world had made him into and it was her problem to deal with if she let her pride or feelings be hurt by him. It did no good to keep dwelling upon it, though he knows, eventually, he will have to speak to Cascada about it, will have to tell her the truth. The tundrian will not lie and will own up to his fault in the encounter like a man ...whenever he got back around to her.

Still, he did not change his course. He kept going west, his pace slowing only when he approached a territory bordering the Firefly Ravine on one side and Emberflame Ridge on the other with a looming sentinel of a mountain peak to it’s back at the west borders. It was a valley, rich with trees whose boughs curled out from the trunk in spindly branches that whispered against the tall grasses that swayed in the fair early afternoon breeze. Drogon shrugs into the valley, ear twitching to dispel a branch that drags along the length of his growing body as he moves forward. The first few are sparse but the deeper he travels in the valley, to the heart of the Meadows, the willows are older and it is here they are large with boughs that spill upon the earth, thick and dense that he finds a nice one that offers shade from the unrelenting sun. The soturi settles into a sphinx-like position near it’s trunk where he nibbles lightly at a paw pad before his salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls as he rests his chin against his paws and closes his eyes giving the illusion of sleep though he does not fall to slumber.
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Ooc — gryff
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#2
the mountains had always been her home. her pads had long been calloused from walking up and down stony slopes, her muscles and lungs well suited to the high-elevation. she enjoyed her time in the high spires and peaks, but there came a time when the little valleys that she enjoyed looking down on looked more interesting than her mountains. only for a brief amount of time, however. but she followed her instincts and slid down the slopes of the sunspire mountains to the northern lands.

the valleys below were no different than the ones high above, but she enjoyed the different. the tranquility was a definite boon; no annoying teens here— wait. Airi frowned at the boy laying prone in the woods, seemingly asleep. she sneered at his incompetence, and approached, snorting to wake him. Nē!
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Ooc — torvi
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#3
thank you for joining!

Drogon’s ears twitch as he picks up the distinct sound of footfalls as they put out a steady rhythm, — like a heartbeat — upon the valley’s floor; thus the soturi is not entirely taken off guard when a feminine voice calls out to him. Then again, he really wasn’t asleep to begin with, and though the word she used was foreign it was close enough to it’s common tongue and tundrian equivalent for him to get the gist of the snorted, irascible toned word. True to his nature Drogon does not immediately open his eyes but instead lets out a derisive snort of his own. “I was not asleep,” He rasps in his deep timbre like aged whiskey steeped in smoke ( grateful that puberty did not deign for it to crack at the current point in time as it’s been known to do ). As he speaks, his glacial gaze is revealed as his eyelids rise and he gives a slight cant of his head to assess her. She is dark as night, he notes though there is yet too much distance between them for him to give note to any definitive features she may bear. “— if that was what you were thinking.” He finishes with a small tug of his lips into a smirk.

It was curious, he thinks, as to why she bothered to stop and call out to him at all when she could have easily kept going. Dragon does not ask it; not yet. Instead is content to lounge in his sphinx-like position and watch her from afar, curious to see if she will continue on the conversation or go about her way.
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Ooc — gryff
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#4
she was about the accuse him of sleeping so blatantly in the woods, but he does it for her. he was simply laying there. for what reason, she could not conceive. perhaps he had not been on the road for too long. she would never rest so openly in the wilds, away from familiar ground. but she was not yet focused on criticizing him. instead, she focused on the rough timbre of his voice and the paleness of his eyes and the curve of his shoulder bone— holy shit not this again.

the last time she was this enamoured with a boy she ended up leaving a trail of blood across the Wilds and a necklace of raised skin on her throat. instead she dashes away her increasingly flustered feelings with a half-amused puff of laughter, which she hopes sounds more like condescending laughter than a embarrased snort. what are you doing here then, if you are not sleeping?
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Ooc — torvi
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#5
i'm probably going to try to use this for a tactician thread. :0

She does not criticize him — though he does not for a second doubt that it has crossed her mind — and for a brief moment Drogon is very sure she will take her leave. To his surprise the girl with a pelage of midnight does not take her leave. Instead, she studies him and in turn he sweeps his glacial gaze over her ( for it is only fair ) and offered her a beguiling twist of his lips upwards ever so slightly. “Trying to see how many passerbys I can fool into thinking I’m asleep,” His response is wry and his ghost of a smile turns into a sly smirk that could give the devil a run for his money. Handsome ( despite Drogon’s youth ) and oh-so wicked. That wasn’t truly why he was here: this were merely a stop along the way …though the way to where he wasn’t overly sure. He had no true destination. The tundrian is becoming a mercenary for hire but knows that he cannot keep leaving the nomadic life he’s taken to. He has until the end of fall and then the pressure to settle ( if only for the winter, at least ) will come down like the blade of a guillotine. He has time yet, and though it is a nagging worry at the back of his mind he does not worry too much yet.

“I feel like it’s pretty strategical in an ambush if you’ve got enemies,” He muses aloud. “lure them close and then when they are least expecting it: attack.” The tactician in him sees the advantage of it but thinks that is could only work once on a wolf and it better be executed with flawless precision because it was doubtful a gorilla warfare tactic such as that would work a second time on the same wolf. A warlord had to know how to fight, Drogon believes, but he also knows that they need to know how to command their legion in warfare. Fighting takes skill, yes, but it doesn’t exactly take intelligence.

Drogon grins then as his shoulders rise and fall in a lofty shrug. “I’m Drogon.” He offers her his name in introduction as he pushes himself to his paws, shaking out his coat slightly to rid it of the debris it picked up from the earthen floor and the long, weeping boughs of the willow tree he’d rested under.
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Ooc — gryff
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#6
for the haughty you dragon-vessel, admitting weakness of any kind was a death sentence to her pride. Zennyo had long since mellowed, slightly bending to the will of his vessel — she was too stubborn, too strong of spirit to let herself be taken over so easily as her mother did. but even now she felt him, quivering in that strange way of expressing his delight. as if he was laughing. Airi wished that she could acowl, but she no longer saw him as she did when she was a child. he was a simple voice in her head, though not a conscious. but still annoying nonetheless.

Airi was lucky that she was not human — the rush of blood that would have appeared on her cheeks would have given her away. she did not Master hiding her emotions as well as some others, but she made the attempt at some half-amused smirk instead of flustered splutters. it didn't work after his smile. she nearly crumpled then. she attempted a quick save — oh? what kind of enemies do you have that would try and sneak up on you like that? — but it was clear to any that she was thoroughly impressed by this young man, in more ways than one. Airi, she deigned to say her birth surname, her conversation with her sister ending any ties she had to her family. 
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Ooc — torvi
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#7
Drogon is vain enough to enjoy attention when it’s given to him; though there are times when he’d much rather be left alone to his own devices. Luckily, this isn’t one of those times. The older girl gives him a half-amused smirk at his explanation and though Drogon had more or less pulled it out of his ass to cover that he was not sleeping but resting his eyes ( because there’s a world of difference ) it sounds like it might be logical and therefore he wants to try it one day though he’s unsure if he’d ever get the chance to see if it works ( or time to prepare for a potential attack, mind ). “The kind that I wouldn’t put it past.” The tundrian offers her vaguely and bluntly, refusing to go into any more detail than that. Maybe he pissed off Blackfeather Woods by leaving them, maybe they’d care enough to come hunt him down. Maybe they wouldn’t. Regardless, the future is vast and unmapped territory and Drogon, as any good warrior, strives to have thought of all the possibilities and how to counter them. “Airi,” He repeats her name back, testing it upon his tongue. “Where’re you from? I don’t recognize your pack scent.” Not that Drogon is overly up to date on pack situations in the Wilds. Typically, he tries to give them a wide berth and mostly that is because he is selfish and clings to the freedoms he’s become accustomed to.
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Ooc — gryff
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#8
she didn't want to be the passive girl swept off her feet by another "stronger" man, but hell it was tempting. it took her a moment of gulping and shifting of her feet to regain her cool composure, but it was honestly a facade. she tried to be the bad girl, flirting back and being alluring...but she didn't know what she was doing at all. you're really young to be getting into that much trouble, she smirked back knowingly in what she thought was seductive — oh my god what was she doing this kid is like half her age (Zennyo was laughing in her head again, even louder now). it's called northstar vale. it's basically a pack of kids, a pack of brats really. and that was being flattering. she was the worst of them, and her shitty attitude brought down their average shittiness to an unimaginably bad number.
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Ooc — torvi
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#9
Drogon’s lips curl cryptically, wryly twisting as she smirks and exclaims that he’s too young to get into that much trouble in a lowered, husky tone. Sultry, even. While sexual desire may be too foreign of a concept for the tundrian to yet grasp he’s cannot help the suspicion that he’s being flirted with. “Evidently I’m not.” He offers as rejoinder with a lofty roll of his shoulders. It is truth. Drogon is a juvenile delinquent and thus has quite the penchant for trouble. For being trouble, for being in trouble. For causing trouble. A ear twitches as she answers him: offering him the name of her pack and explains that it’s a pack of kids. As Drogon’s experiences with other children are less than ideal ( his superiority complex and dominant drive probably have something to do with that ) and honestly the idea of living with more children like Neo and Vaati make his lip curl with distaste. No, he didn’t think he could harbor the same restraint this time. He knows that he wouldn’t. “How does your alpha keep a more experienced, stronger wolf from overthrowing them?” Because in Drogon’s world this makes most sense. He understands body language, he understands dominance and he knows that he who is the strongest is the one who will steal the throne; but also gives away that he has no idea how pack politics work in the process — that not every pack is dominated by well…dominance and one’s physical ability to stay at the top.

Drogon may be intelligent but he's always been more physical: he responds to it better because it's a language that cannot lie, that is not hollow; and thus he prefers it.
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Ooc — gryff
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#10
she enjoys the roll of his shoulders, but tries to keep her hungry glare hidden. it probably doesn't work. she doesn't even think of the implications of her attraction — how much older she is compared to him. sure six months or so wouldn't matter for older wolves, she was nearly a year and he still a child. she honestly doesn't care, so enraptured is she.

she sucks her teeth in a disdainful manner, rolling her eyes. other than another kid — who else would want to take over to babysit all of them? if she were an adult, she wouldn't even bother staying with a group of kids like this. she'd rather take over with her own crew; they did have prime territory after all. but rannoch is the eldest of us — and he's pretty big for his age, I suppose. that seemed to be the only reason why he ever led the rest of them in the first place: he looked the most like an adult.
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Ooc — torvi
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#11
Drogon is not unobservant to the hunger of her gaze, as if she wishes to devour him ( though not in the way that the tundrian thinks; he’s not quite aware of attraction on that level yet ). She rolls her eyes at him and the soturi’s shoulders stiffen, maned chest rising slightly in indignation. “I am sure there are plenty of usurpers out there that would be more willing than you think.” He offers with another lofty shrug of his shoulders, though in truth, he certainly wouldn’t want to be stuck babysitting other kids …and he was still a kid himself. Perhaps not quite so much mentally, though. “You’re right, though, that sounds like a fucking headache.” Trying to handle Neo and Vaati had been exhausting enough …no, Drogon’s got no love for kids of his own age ( or even those close to it ). Drogon scoffs at the reasons she provides, not caring if he insulted her or not. After all, he has no idea what this Rannoch fellow might be to her but whether they are siblings or lovers or nothing of the sort is of no consequence to the tundrian and he’s not cared about the feelings ( or whether he insults them or not ) of others for quite some time. “So just because he’s the oldest and largest means he’s the most dominate? That he knows what he’s doing?” Drogon inquires with a quirk of his brow. It wasn’t his place to question and didn’t really matter in the end: it’s not as if he was ever going to join the pack. She didn't have to answer and Drogon had no intentions of pushing because he didn't actually care. Merely, he was looking to sate his curiosity.
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#12
Airi laughs at the thought of anyone other than rannoch coming to take over. perhaps some other kid, but she had yet to meet a kid that motivated to do so. even she didn't want the position, and she was a dragon. they haven't come yet, she smirks, her laughter dying. he mentioned how much of a headache it was. you're telling me, she frowns. she had to live with them for this past year. most of the kids there are barely older than a year now. they all came when they were much younger. he was the oldest and came up with the idea in the first place she sensed the digs at her, questioning why, if she was so condescending, did she stay for so long. it riled her up. even his pretty face couldn't save him. look i like the area here and i haven't found any better pack just yet.
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Ooc — torvi
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#13
since this thread is over 2 months old i went ahead and edited an ending on it so it could be archived. :-)

Drogon’s ears cup forth and swivel back as she laughs off his question and he rolls his broad shoulders in response. If this Rannoch guy wanted to be in charge of a bunch of kids then that was his prerogative and it wasn’t any of the tundrian’s business to dissect it. There is a furrow of Drogon’s brow, a twitch of his tail against his hocks as she puffs up at his drilling questions and snaps ( even if she doesn’t actually snap at him it’s how he’ll perceive it ) an explanation at him …except the soturi doesn’t recall asking for one. That might have been the point he was working towards or perhaps he was just questioning to sate his own curiosity and was never going to ask that specific question. Regardless, he has an answer to a question he’s not asked and she is prickly and defensive. He offers her an incredulous expression, ears pivoting atop his head as he lets out a half-chuckle. “Ok,” He gives a small pause here, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls. “well…good for you.” Drogon’s not sure how to respond, teetering on the edge of satisfied curiosity and indifference on the matter because it’s not really any of his business why she stays despite her condescending responses. He’d certainly never stay at a pack he wasn’t happy in but that was just him.

Drogon lingers for a few moments longer before he sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I gotta go." It was brisk, curt even and lacking the elegance of a formal goodbye. He doesn't necessarily mean for it to be as such but it is and he makes no amends to fix it. He gives his coat a shake, stretches to loosen the stiffness in his legs from staying in one spot for a time and trots off, disappearing into the willows.