Redtail Rise but my god, you are divine

From Firefly Ravine Drogon heads east, the territories of the northern stretches yet unexplored to the tundrian. His purpose is not entirely selfish as though he explores for himself, to learn the layout of the Wilds territory by territory he also seeks to seize the opportunity of recruiting for Cascada’s cause. A cause that is his own now, too, he supposes. It is a simple cause: create a home to belong to. Unlike Blackfeather Woods there does not appear to be a driving theme behind Cascada’s desires. No Gods, no hidden agenda. It is concise. Find a place to call home, where they could belong. The soturi understands this desire well enough. He will not hide behind Gods, behind secrecy. He is seen, he is known, he is an oncoming storm. He gives his enemy every chance to deny him. He is a true warrior and staying in those woods, regardless of the affection he feels for Nyx would deny him what he wants. There was no future there. Nothing but the promise that one day his usefulness would run out like the sand in an hourglass and when that hour came calling so too would death. That is not the man Drogon will be and thus leaving them was the only course of action he could see. Nyx would be fine without him. She had Neo. She had Damien.

As the mid-day sun hangs high in the sky Drogon steps into Redtail Rise, taking in the small chain of mountains and untamed slopes of the foothills. The once deciduous forest is charred and burnt stumps and ash are all that is left. It is ruinous. He is drawn into the ruins, intrigued by the destruction around him. He has never seen anything like it before and wonders what was it’s cause. Large, broad paws leave prints in the ash as he walks, the Rise is absent of breeze, preserving his steps (though any tree coverage there might have been once is clearly long gone and he could likely be seen anyway). The burnt ridge is left to the sun and the soot dusted and ivory spinesplitter looks as if he was born of this ash; except for his eyes. They are not fire forged like the one that razed this place to the ground but are like jewels of ice instead, arctic and bone-chilling; the cold can burn just as much as heat he knows.

The soturi remains just to sate his own curiosity, to explore but holds little hope of finding anyone he may be able to recruit. He will move on, soon, but for now he is content to explore the ash ruins.

Sunspot wandered through the wasted land, a sad little half-smile on her face, though her body language was worried and guarded. The scent of fire had long since faded here, but ash and burnt wood still lingered and swirled most discomfortingly in her lungs. Fire had always frightened her, ever since that terrible week in her youth, when the whole of her father's woods had burned to the ground. They'd been lucky to survive, both through the first and that first, lean winter.

There were many things the huntress should've been thinking about instead, but the crackle of charred sticks under her paws made her think of home - of Sameth. Of the family that'd scattered itself to the far corners of the world. She wondered if she would ever see the rest of them again, or if Grayday would be her only family for the remainder of her days.

"Why him?" she murmured, the words pushing through the veil of guilt they'd hidden behind for so long. She'd tried so hard to be grateful for her brother's reappearance, but when she looked at him, all she could think about was how she wished it were anyone else. One of her sweet little sisters, or the ever-steady Shale. One of her wise elder siblings - even Mur would've been better than Grayday, and yet, he was all she had.

Sunspot was so wrapped up in her memories that she did not notice the ash-colored boy she wandered by.

He moves slowly among the ash covered ground, ruddy brown and emerald green stained and coated with streaks of soot and stained with the chalky white of the ash. He suspects that whatever had happened here had been some time ago but it’s scars remained. There is a tang upon the air that lingers: sharp and smoky; unlike anything he’d ever smelled before. Rains had cleansed the Rise some, he thinks but whatever happened here still remained. It was stubborn and he wondered if the Rise would forever be doomed to bear this ugly scar through the passage of time. The ash that does remain feels strange underfoot, different than sand — an entirely different texture — but he wonders how much is tree and how much is bone and flesh of animals that were not able to escape the disaster. How many graves does he walk on? A brooding frown tugs at the corners of Drogon’s muzzle as he inhales deeply, filling his black, leathery nostrils with the scent of char and smoke and lets it out in an deep exhale.

The sound of footfalls is the last thing the tundrian expects to hear and his ears cup forth atop his skull to pinpoint the origin of the sound though he sees her soon enough: as brightly colored as she is. She is like a sun in the presence of the moon: she does not look as if she has a place among the charred trees, soot and ash stained Rise. She mumbles something, a question that makes no sense to the soturi; whose glacial gaze watches her, assuming she would notice him. There is not much distance between them and though he blends better than her he is perturbed at how she didn’t appear to notice him at all. If he was a snake he would have bitten her.

“Hey!” Drogon calls out to her in a gruff bark, hoping to snap her out of memory lane.

Sunspot swung around with teeth and gums bared, her surprise dragging a sharp yelp from her throat. At first, she still could not see the other wolf, although she realized - quite suddenly - that she'd been smelling him for some time. Her aggression continued until she laid eyes on the pale boy that'd hailed her. Abruptly, she was docile once more.

"You're Cascada's friend, right?" said Sunspot, bounding forward a few steps to get a better look at the pup. The two carried each other's scents, though it was more faintly than she would've expected. Her heart went out to the woman she'd met on the plains - she must be terribly lonely.

Drogon watches her with unbidden perplexity for a beat before his own teeth bare at her in retaliation as she turns, bears her teeth and lets out a sharp yelp. For all the noise and fuss she was making one would think he physically lashed out  and attacked her as opposed to simply calling out to her. “What is the matter with you?” The soturi demands to know, the words tearing themselves from betwixt his lips on rasping voice cracking on a few words (to his humiliation) as it balances precariously on that line between boyhood and adulthood (ah, the woes of puberty!) Her change was abrupt — if he’d have blinked he would have missed it; but she is all docile now. Umbra dusted hackles bristle with unshaken unease at the abrupt turnabout she displays, even going so far as to ask — or assume, perhaps — that he is Cascada’s friend. She isn’t wrong but there is an instinct to protect Cascada that she triggers within him. He wasn't so sure he liked the idea of someone so easily able to be aggressive and then in two seconds flat perfectly amiable as if the aggression had never happened at all near Cascada. Drogon's maned chest puffs out, absent vainglory. It is meant to make him look bigger (though he is growing plenty big as it is); one day it would be used as an intimidation tactic. “I’m her companion,” He finally responds after a few seconds of debate (though he knows there is no use denying it), his glacial gaze focusing intently upon the stranger. “How do you know Cascada?” Drogon inquires less with curiosity and more with expectation.

Sunspot peeled back her teeth once more at the other's insolent tone. "You startled me," she snapped, tail lashing. "What's a girl supposed to do, huh? You could've been anyone. Lucky for you, I don't blame you for it." At least, she hadn't at first. He'd only been calling to her, and it wasn't his fault she'd been stuck in her head - but who did he think he was, using that tone with her? He'd been the one to call after her, and there was nothing wrong with being ready to fight, if the need called for it. How was she supposed to know he was only a harmless little boy?

The woman ignored his question, feeling very grumpy and unaccountably embarrassed. "Did you need something, or can I be on my way?"

She does not appreciate his insolent tone, he can tell. Drogon sniffs once and lifts his muzzle ever so slightly as she peels back her lips to reveal her teeth to him once more. Drogon is unfazed. It was her fault for being so dramatic about the whole thing. “I could have been anyone,” He agrees. “and if I wanted to hurt you don’t you think I would have just attacked instead of calling out to you?” He asks with a low, annoyed huff. “You don’t need to be so dramatic.” Deepening voice of whiskey steeped in smoke rasps at her from betwixt his lips.

He is reluctant to let her go; mostly because she let his question fall to the wayside and that unnerves him more than he cares to admit. Cascada is his companion and it only makes sense that he grows to care for her in the gruff manner that Drogon can care for anyone these days. “Not until you answer my question.” The soturi demands ghosting towards her. “I’ve answered yours and now you will answer mine.” The tundrian is unrelenting and presses, repeating his question. It does not escape his notice that if he seeks to aid Cascada in recruiting that he will have to be …kinder to strangers; but all of the soturi’s edges are wicked and sharp and designed to cut with little to no resistance lacking all of the regality and elegance of his parents. Drogon is no longer that creature, no longer exposed to those social interactions. He is nearly a feral child ready to fight the whole world, if need be. It shows, the young sotapäällikkö realizes. It shows and it is ugly and he relaxes the tension in his shoulders, though the hardened glint of his glacial gaze does not entirely vanish.

“Perhaps we should start over.” Drogon amends, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls as he inhales and lets it out in a heavy sigh. “I'm Drogon.” He offers her despite how unsure he is if this conversation could yet be salvaged or not.

Sunspot's eyes narrowed further as the boy continued to berate her. She wanted to tell him off in kind, but she doubted it would have any affect on the little snot. Didn't he know what startled meant? Hadn't she tried to be friendly as soon as she'd seen her error? That was more than could be said for him.

"Well, you don't have to be such an asshole," she replied, thinking it was far beyond his place to be telling what she should and shouldn't do. She wasn't about to waste any more time on the boy - or his friend - even after he began to backpedal. For Sunspot, it was too little, too late.

"Fuck you," she muttered in response to his introduction, turning to continue her way through the rise. What a dumb way to act, she thought to herself, wishing she hadn't stopped to talk to him at all. For some reason, her pride had taken quite the hit from their little exchange.

As they were not trying to be cordial anymore Drogon puffs up with indignation as she tells him he didn’t need to be such an asshole. He disagreed. Especially so, when he’d had The Stranger take advantage of it and lead him away from his home and everything he had known and loved because he trusted, because he was kind. The soturi had adapted in the best way that he could: a way that did not see him to be eloquent or well mannered but to be as wicked and tough as Mother Nature herself. It is the only way he knows how to survive and he will not be apologetic for it. Fuck you. She spits the word at him. His lip curls back over his teeth but he does not lash out in aggression. “Fuck you, too.” He snarls at her back under his breath. It is the first time that Drogon has even used such explicit language and he likes the taste of it, the sound of it as it forms upon his tongue and then expels from betwixt his lips. Eyes roll at her back before she vanishes deeper into the Rise. It is only after he has ensured she is gone that he continues forth wondering if he had to tell Cascada about this exchange gone wrong.