Sleeping Dragon bittersweet poetry

He's plenty thankful for a dense, thick coat here in the face of this most recent cold snap. With each one biting harder than the last or lingering just a little longer, he knows what is to yet come.

While winter on this volcano will be new, tried and true instinct and experience instills a good guide. He's been hunting more, trying to double up his patrols to line up with good small game trails whenever he can. But in the light of Wildfire's attack, he's intent to range out further at times just to buffer their lines even better too -- and what it boils down to is he's covering more distance than before day after day.

Like now, by the times he finally comes roaming back in towards the Dragon's focal points, he's usually in subdued sorts of moods compared to what he is when he's on active duty, so to speak. It's while he's considering whether or not to go find Portia with or without food (he's not that hungry, but she'd probably appreciate the sentiment he supposes..) that he realizes Freyja's scent, so he trails it along to meet her near the stores with a quiet chuff. "Hey," he announces more formally, tail waving softly as he casually looks over what she's doing.