Sleeping Dragon Weave a secret

All had been well on his watch. Perhaps even bordering on quiet, for the standard set around the Dragon at its norm, anyway. He found his routines coming and going without alarm, and it's.. good.

But he's been around long enough to not be fooled into complacency. Winter creeps, slow but surely. The days are growing shorter and a distinctly autumnal crispness to the air, even on the muggy nights that linger sometimes, so he has to wonder.. for how long will all be relatively easy. He knows, deep down, that he's feeling an extra unease -- last winter had been bad for him, personally, despite it leading him into the commander's pack in the end. The scars remained, and he's not one to forget easily anyway.

He still cannot manage to settle down for the evening, and it's only getting later by the moment. He'd left the borders hours earlier, trying to wind himself down then, but even dipping further into the territory, he couldn't seem to find it in him to just decompress in full. His paws itched for motion, looking to outpace his meandering considerations and his long, sweeping strides take him deeper into the moonlit woodland with an eventual plan to return to the borders, but elsewhere this time. On his way out there, he finds trail of the boy who had been keen to Portia. The guardian decides to follow, all while wondering what may have him out at this hour. So he let curiosity have at him.

He weaves further into the trees, alternating between sniffs and seeking a visual confirmation of the youth. In time, he gets what he wants. "Hey," he offers before his approach can draw any closer, and slows his steps after.