Moonspear you have ichor running through your veins

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.