Horizon Ridge shadow runner

Law. The thought of slapping restrictions on him is nearly enough to cause Drogon to curl his lip, regardless of the fact that he knows that packs have rules and that if he joins one he will have to abide by them. Enforce them, even. He’d been too young in Enok Tundra to be impacted by governing laws and as for Blackfeather Forest he’d left them behind when he was told that his life would be forfeit the moment he was thought to be no longer useful to Nyx and her precious Dark Master. As if said Dark Master was a god and had the ability to chose who lived and who died simply out of convenience. Not to mention, they fought like cowards as far as the soutri cared: sticking to shadows and their secrecy. If he was going to take something from a man: his mate, his pack, his life Drogon was going to look him in the eyes as he did it. He wasn’t going to hide behind a contract or false gods. Laws, laws, laws, yes, feral child. Laws. Damn it all, though, if his ears didn’t literally perk atop his skull at the word that left Constantine’s lips on the next breath, though.

Sparring. Now, the shadow runner had the tundrian’s undivided attention. “Sparring?” The word was like music to the soturi’s ears. The part of being a ‘family’ didn’t have any sway either way upon Drogon. He wasn’t really looking for a family. He’d had one, after all, and they’d been torn away from him. Unkempt fur ruffles in the breeze, chin ever-so-slightly lifting in contemplation as Constantine lets words hang in the air between them that sound like an offer to the tundrian. It would not be easy: accumulating himself to hierarchy and laws especially when he has travelled by himself on and off and Cascada never imposed rules for him. He’d came and went as he pleased, and then left. He feels partially guilty about it but not near enough to try to find her. It’s what he does. Leaves when the first signs of affection begin to set in, but winter is coming, he can feel it upon the chill of the air and he knows that he has to settle. Soon. Even if it is just for the winter.

There is potential here, and it sounds like Drogon could very much enjoy the kind of pack the stranger is attempting to build; though perhaps it might be a good idea to keep him away from potential recruits who are easily insulted, he thinks. “Maybe I will,” Drogon finally answers. “sounds like it’s right up my alley.” He was all for sparring and saying “fuck you” to neighbors. In fact, he was rather gifted at both. “I’m Drogon.” He offers his name to the shadow runner.