Sleeping Dragon Paused parade

If he was nowhere near Thuringwethil, Toxochelys rarely left Drageda’s borders. Day in and day out, he slept there, he ate there, and he patrolled there. He was unconcerned with the Larksong wolves, however; to him, they were pest more than threat, if their wiry little priest was anything to go by. Although he didn’t discount the extent of the trouble it could cause to remove pests, the individuals who strayed too far from their own pastures amounted to very little on his radar. Toxochelys guarded because it was his line of work, and not necessarily because he perceived a threat.

That misty morning, he loped along their claimed boundaries until he caught the unmistakable sight of red fur in the far off reaches of his range of vision. He slowed and stopped just for a moment before proceeding to purposefully prowl closer and closer until he picked up his pace again. He gazed at her with glimmering eyes and decided then and there that her cloak of russet and inky tail certainly set her apart from the rest. With a flick of his coppery ears and a coltish toss of his head, the young, unproven Kru wordlessly beckoned the dew-laden Bandrona to join him.