Emberwood daughter of stone

Drogon’s instinctual reaction to her un-permitted closeness does not appear to phase her beyond surprise. He’d been expecting the full waterworks, perhaps a sobbing scream for her mother. For this the soturi is mildly surprised but nevertheless grateful. She gives her name in return: Aru and then Lavder (as to which he thinks might just be Lavender); and since he likes Lavender better than Aru — partially because he cannot make out what Aru is meant to be short for — the tundrian deigns to call her it. She is bold, he thinks, or perhaps it is simply that she is young and does not grasp the concept of danger as she scoots closer to him, indicating to the rock with a foot. She assures him it’s ok ( he rather thinks it’s not; for while it is acceptable to snap at an older child or adult in such a manner it is not acceptable to have done it to her for she is young and clearly doesn’t know any better ) calling him Dran. Drogon frowns and then realizes this his name is close to the word dragon. Despite the mistake he does not correct her. At her inquiry his gaze shifts from her to the white rock she’d collected shortly before he’d walked into her path. It’s not like any rock he can recall seeing before: white with edges that are smooth and rounded as opposed to jagged and sharp. “Yeah,” He responds after a moment. “It’s a pretty rock.” Maybe she collected them: maybe in his travels he could keep his eye out for other pretty rocks and if they ever crossed paths again he could give them to her.