Emberwood daughter of stone

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It is not uncommon for Dragon to venture away from Nova Peak — in fact it’s more uncommon that he doesn’t. He lets Cascada know he’s going adventuring before he saunters off. He never gives estimate of when he will return because he can never know. Some days he is gone for half a day, sometimes a whole day and other times he is gone for a handful of days at a time; but he always returns ( eventually ). Unlike many other adults has not tried to fill a hole in his life that he doesn’t need and certainly doesn’t want her to fill; he appreciates it and the free reign she allows him. No leash, no “you’re too young” excuses, no threats, nothing to stop him from coming and going as he pleased. The world has already done the unthinkable to him …he does not fear it and the dangers that lurk in the shadows. He grows and he trains and he knows how to hold his own in a fight ( or at least deal some serious damage and dodge and block if nothing else ).

The leaves on the trees of the emberwood are golden and orange and maroon: like the colors of a fall sunset and the young warlord ventures through it leisurely, unaware that he nears a migrating pack. Until he comes across the heavy scent of pack, wolf and a mixture of something else. Not wolf and not coyote. Canine but …not a scent he’s ever came upon before. Drogon’s black, leathery nostrils flare and his long ( for his age ) legs carry him towards the scent and he pauses just in the underbrush as he spies a little girl in a coat of light merle. She is young, much younger than himself and he shrinks down in the thick underbrush as glacial blue gaze scans the area around the girl for a watchful mother sure that she is there, somewhere. He debates for a moment, and makes to back out of the gnarled bush only to let out a low snarl as a sharp branch slices leaving a small wound that seeps slowly with blood upon his leg.

“Fuck!” Drogon hisses as he steps out of the thicket, right in the girl’s line of sight. His concern is hardly on the girl and hopes that she is more preoccupied by her rock than she is with him ( for he sees the white rock held betwixt her jaws as he spares her a glimpse and then a quick glimpse at the forest that stretches behind her in case an angry parent came flying out at him ) and draws his tongue over the smarting, shallow wound.