Moonspear you have ichor running through your veins
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Ooc — torvi
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All Welcome 
weather via weather widget: 34°F/1°C | snow showers; whomever snags this gets to witness drogon's first time in the snow. :P Edit. going to say this takes place on moonspear's borders

A light snow had begun to fall from the grey, overcast afternoon and Drogon’s breath leaves his lips in small plumes of steam that writhe in the air before they dissipate. He is left bewildered and yet, in awe of the chilling white substance that falls from the sky. It is quiet, peaceful, serene and it blankets everything it touches in a dusting of white. Yet, as he sets paw to ground and lingers he pulls it back to discover that it’s melted into water upon his paw pad — known also because he’s eaten some of it and found that it just dissolves to water in his mouth and that it lacks any distinct taste. It is frigid that much he does know and leaves him with a shiver after he’s scooped it boldly in his mouth ( it’s really a good thing snow’s not poisonous ). It is the first time that the self proclaimed tundrian has actually witnessed snowfall even if it is little more than a dusting. It’s enough to enrapture and captivate him as he stands out like a sore, stark thumb against the backdrop of the Spear and the snowfall that dusts it. His ears slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he thrusts his muzzle skyward to catch the flakes as they float lazily down, watching, transfixed, as they touch upon the ink of his muzzle, lingering for a few seconds before they melt into a fat raindrop.
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Ooc — gerra
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She'd seen the seasons turn over time and time again. She knew the routine, the signs, the outcomes--generally speaking, of course. as they did often vary with certain parameters, and never entirely ceased to occasionally surprise even time-tested Ame. But all the same: nights grew colder, longer, and the rich greens began to fade and mute away, some shifting to warm vivid reds in one last hurrah, and everything began to prepare for the coldest months in marked ways.

While all beauty in its own right, Amekaze never had been, or would be, one to overly favor the winter. She could appreciate it, and enjoy it to a certain extent, but never would it be her favorite.. she just liked the greenery and life of spring and summer far too much. So, beneath this first snowfall, she was more subdued, and toeing a line towards almost mournful; it was much like the final nail in the coffin for the seasons of easy, plentiful living that were spring through autumn.. Now, the freeze was bound to deepen from here on out and it was marking a time for them to change gears, adapt, and survive.

This quiet meandering over the borderlands brought her towards Drogon, eventually, and she picked up her ears when she spotted him. He was hard enough to miss against the freshly-laid snow, and with a few strides more, she zeroed in on the young male.. who looked to be enjoying the winter precipitation. With a coat like his, despite his dark shades, she did not find it surprising. "I think we are due for a snowy winter," she mentioned as she neared, pairing it with a slow tail wave, and remembering the years past when it had really piled up on the Teekon. Even on the mountains, the last year had been gentle on them, and the year before nothing overly noteworthy. "Last year it did not begin this early." Although he would have no comparison for this, it was just a thought to consider--and a reminder that not only were they a pack of warriors and scouts, but naturalists too. "What do you think?" she asked the boy, of this, and all else.
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i want to bleed in the 「r a i n
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Ooc — torvi
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Drogon is so preoccupied with watching the snow that he misses the sound of approaching footfalls ( a deadly mistake for a warrior but he brushes it under the rug because he’s within the safety of Moonspear’s borders and does not think anyone would ambush him ) and is startled when her voice breaks the silence that has engulfed the world around him. He glimpses at her and for a moment his heart rises to his throat and his breath catches there as he mistook her for Hydra. It is but a first quick glimpse and he realizes his mistake with a low chuckle to himself ( trying to play it off cool, as always ) and lowers himself into a submissive posture before the mother of the Cerberus, recognizing her now. An easy mistake to make, he tells himself. The Cerberus are lovely like their mother and bear her dark pelage to boot.

Drogon offers a steady wag of his tail, dispelling the freshly lain snow that dusts the ground, stirring up a small whirlwind before he rises slowly, sure to keep his posture befitting that of his rank: submissive and unassuming. “Really?” He inquires with a contemplative hum as he peers skyward once more to watch it cascade lazily down. His ears slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull for a few heartbeats before they perk, his head turning in her direction as she asks him what he thinks of it though he is a bit unsure whether she means the snow or Moonspear as a whole ( or even both, perhaps ). “I like it.” The tundrian responds truthfully and vaguely enough to cover all potential bases, he hopes.
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Ooc — gerra
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She does not know him well enough to know each and every one of his nuances, and quite frankly, she is used to sneaking up on wolves whether she meant to or not. Having the cerberus roam freely as it did seemed to increase these odds, and she'd never change that. "Mhm. Last year was pretty mild, too. The chill on the air seemed to come pretty early this time around.. but then again, it never got hot-hot over the summer," she supposed. It had been warm, yet never sweltering or overly dry.. and no major disasters had been brought by it, at least in her neck of the woods. Easy, almost pleasant, and a piece of her missed it already, although she saw the beauty in all seasons. She could still play her favorites. 

"A few years ago--I still lived across the valley on the Sunspire then, but we had tons of snow for most the season." she recalled, having learned that Teekon winters could bite quite hardly if they saw it fit, then turn around and be mild for the very next. "It was enough to make the big game hunting very good. They struggled to forage with everything beneath so much snow, and we could capitalize on bringing their weak down," she smirked, so if he liked a little dusting like this, that was another thing to look forward to with the deepening of the winter.
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i want to bleed in the 「r a i n
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Ooc — torvi
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Drogon’s ears twitched as she spoke of the year previous and he muses that he’ll just have to take her word for it in regards to the weather, and then she delves deeper giving him some insight to what her age may be ( though, truthfully, it’s not like he goes around thinking about the age of other wolves it’s not something he’s actually all that interested in knowing ) speaking of a territory called Sunspire and how they had such deep snows. According to Amekaze it made for good hunting for them. Drogon absorbs the information, offering her a sage nod and a pensive expression as he looks around them as the snow lightly falls. A flake lands on his left ear and it twitches as it would to dispel an errant fly but it melts too quickly and a fat, cold drop slides down the cusp of his ear. He’s still enraptured by the snow: how fascinating he finds it. He is smart enough to put two and two together to understand that their body heat is what causes the snowflakes to melt upon contact with them, and likewise he’s able to deduct that the earth must grow colder in the winter months to allow it to lay upon it like a wintery blanket ( but alas he’s no astronomer and does not realize that it’s actually because the sun is further away ).

“Enok Tundra is cold all year around,” Drogon speaks, recalling the nightingale’s stories from his childhood, useful for making it seem like it, too, was once his home. He does not need to protect his family anymore but he’s told the lie so many times and believed it was true so that truth it became. “but when I was old enough to leave the den the snows all melted.” Snow reminds him of his mother and there is a sharp pang in his heart, a heavy lump that settles in his throat and a deep, aching yearning for her. He does not realize that she is no longer among the living but he mourns her all the same, for a different reason; the reason that he knows: that he was stolen from her. Too young and too naïve and he’ll never stop mourning her, especially because every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection it is her features, her colors that stare back at him ( except for the eyes, no, the glacial eyes are all his own ). He shifts his weight and draws in a breath to let it out in a heavy sigh. "The snow makes me miss my mother." Drogon admits with a furrowed brow, his deep, rasping voice quiet and thick with the emotion that he doesn't necessarily want to process. Still, he feels a little better getting it off his chest. He doesn't expect Amekaze to say anything and he's quick to change the subject lest it pull him into a dark place he doesn't want to visit. "So can you tell how deep the snows are going to get? Or is it a lottery?" He inquires, eagerly grasping for information that might be useful to him, especially if he decides to actively pursue tracking before winter's end.
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Ooc — gerra
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She hmm-ed thoughtfully, noting neatly this tundra of which he spoke. Odds of her ever knowing the place personally herself ran next to impossible, so in truth, she liked hearing of faraway lands if she could. It was as near to them as she would be going. "All year? It must be well north then," she mentioned, having heard of some lands like that, bitterly cold and formidable.. although none ever by that name of Enok itself. It was a life she didn't favor herself, although knew and respected that it took a certain sort to survive and rise above it. She really just liked the lush and the green far too much to ever be lured by perpetual chill.

And as for his mother that he missed, she fanned her ears and sent him a slow glance. She couldn't quite discern the full depth of the topic from that alone, and was inclined to leave it be, albeit like all things.. noted. "It can be a lot of chance, and a bit about reading the subtler signs—and cycles too.." she explained, brow furrowing somewhat. "And up to a lot of elements I cannot claim to understand." she nodded. Even that was only the beginning. "Wetter years tend to make for deeper snows, obviously. It has been a relatively rainy year so far, so maybe.." Her shoulders shifted; just a thought. "A bit more than normal. It would not surprise me," Amekaze sighed.

"So, how has the mountain been to you so far? And training with Hydra—?" Hard telling what that would entail, but the dark mother was infinitely curious of what her daughter had in store for him, and what it would foster in him.
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i want to bleed in the 「r a i n
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Ooc — torvi
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Drogon is glad that Amekaze does not capitalize upon his statement about missing his mother and Drogon is happy to let it fall to the wayside. He is worlds away from her now ( he does not know just how very true that thought is ) and it’s not like he can ever go back. He remembers her in pieces and has nothing concrete to really hang on to anyway: pieces of a picture that will never be whole. Drogon has long ago accepted that he is the catalyst for his own suffering. His ears cup forth, attentive, when Amekaze explains the mechanics of snow stating to him first and foremost that it’s a lot of chance. Drogon looks up to the sky and sees just that: sky. He is not gifted at deciphering it, nor the stars on the clear night sky. Others see shapes and he just sees balls of fire and he wonders if that means he’s broken. “I’d be okay with a bit more snow,” The Ansbjørn grins at his alpha and lets his tail wag against his hocks for a moment before he bows his head and nuzzles his muzzle into the chilling snow.

He sends snow flying as he recoils his muzzle from the snow and lets out a low bubble of laughter before he offers a clear of his throat, realizing that she’s asked him a serious question. Drogon offers her a sheepish and apologetic glance before his muzzle parts to speak, “Good! I really like it here.” He admits. It’s a bit surprising to him, if he’s being honest with himself, simply because he’s never been very good with authority. He’s that juvenile delinquent your mom warns you about, that’s what Drogon is. It’s what he’ll always be: a rebel without a cause, James Dean slick ( or so he likes to think ). “I’m grateful that you took me in.” He adds. Especially when they didn’t have to. His past alone and haphazardly severed ties with the Blackfeather wolves that they seek war with was no doubt warrant enough to chase him off. “Training’s awesome,” Drogon grins. Any excuse to exercise and practice and improve and he was down. Perhaps his eagerness to spar made him a bit too aggressive at times but he was, honestly, improving. Calming down. “I mean, Hydra’s busy and not always available which I understand but I always look forward to our lessons.” And not just because he’s got a crush on his teacher ( but that does tend to make the prospect of lessons a bit more exciting then they would have regularly been ).
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