Sleeping Dragon love isn't brains, children, it's blood

She offers half a chuckle in response, a snort of breath from her nose, as she explains who is and isn’t tough when it comes to the pack. She lists only she and her father, but nonetheless she nods anyway. They all were, even those not in the brawn trade of guarding and hunting. They had persevered thus far, through the famine and hardships of recreating their claim. Even the threat of the phoenix wolves had given them, they’d stuck out through it.

“I do. Every day,” she continues to answer. “We all do and one day, you'll be able to on your own. If you want to leave your mark, find one of us and we will take you along. And while we are here, we might as well?” she suggests with a wave of her arched tail, going just a little further than where they’d stop. “You can rub yourself on a tree or roll in the dirt or urinate,” she explains, moving toward the stone wall the borders the geyser and rubs her mouth and shoulder against a rough edge before she squats and briefly relieves herself to leave the strong smell behind.