Sleeping Dragon i have watched holy men immolate on the banks of Nile

The smoke was what woke him, blearily he blinked and inhaled softly the strangeness. Freyja beside him shifted, pulling from the den, and after a moment he rose to follow her, concern waking him quickly, a primordial instinct instilling worry in him, the scent of smoke something instinctively bad. 

Beneath his paws the ground suddenly shifted and groaned, as if some beast awoken from its slumber. His eyes grew wide with shock, though he did not panic, instead rushing to her as she cried out, moving beside her, wordlessly voicing his concern through a glance alone, allowing her to lean on him need be, though his own legs were made unsteady by the quaking of the earth.

"Freyja!"

a call, by the Heda for her pack, reached his ears, though it was numbly that he heard it, to unsettled was he to locate it. None the less, the ground in it's anger was as sure a sign as any. He would not follow them. His place was not with them, nor was it with Larksong, nor with Blackfeather. Thus when Freyja spoke once more, he nodded in quick agreement. His gaze settled in the clearest path he could think of in a moment of rising fear for the ground that rebelled against itself, and the smoke that rose in a column from the mountain. west. 

And soon on they were moving, pace s ground eating lope he could sustain for hours if need by, steadily at the side of Freyja as she led ever west, simply away from the beast that had once been a home.