Sleeping Dragon half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers, real gods require blood

Dragging him from slumber, her short words sent a thrill of nervous excitement through him. Storm lost no time in collecting his body together, thin stick-like legs elevating his slender body with a new ease. Although his leg twinged when he ran, he was almost back to fine fettle. He had also began to groom himself, and had visited a stream. Although his cave was still dank and murky, his coat had taken on a semblance of its previous lustre.
 
Storm walked swiftly out of the cave, almost colliding with Heda when he realised she stood on the threshold – he hadn’t initially discerned her dark coat from the cloak of shadows dribbling down from the cave’s overhang.
 
Skittering to avoid any such collision, Storm hovered near to his mistress, tail and ears tucked. For once his brown eyes glanced around him to determine whether anyone else was joining them – it appeared not – before falling back to rest solely on her throat. He licked his lips and waited.