Neverwinter Forest painted the hunger onto my skin

unlucky for drogon :0

Drogon, though he much preferred his solitude — as a mercenary for hire there became a point where he started to see other lone wolves as competition ( though for what he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t as if any packs had use for a wandering, battleborn vagabond they mostly desired a bend of the knee ). Perhaps, he deduces, they are competition for food. For survival; but on the other side of the coin the soturi could see the way that living in solitude was a clear disadvantage. He could not eat venison, elk or any other sort of large ungulate. At least with one other, the chances were higher; and beyond a better quality of food source it was tremendously lonely at times. “We can handle it.” Drogon is confident ( not cocky, mind, just confident ) despite that he has no idea if they’ll be able to pull it off or not. The plan is sound but …they don’t even know one another’s names. They know nothing of how the other hunts ( for everyone has a different method ) but they do have a sound plan and the ambition to take down the deer. If they succeed there is enough no the aged deer for both to eat their fill and then take their fair share of the spoils and still have some leftovers for the birds.

While it remains true that Drogon should come with a warning label ‘does not get along well with others’ he knows that it is purely beneficial to them both to succeed in this hunt and thus is utterly willing to place his trust in that alone. They take their positions and Drogon’s body goes stiff as his muscles all pull taunt in anticipation, in readiness. The woman breaks the elder off from the herd and has the aging beast barreling towards the tundrian. Glacial gaze widens until his pupils nearly swallow all but a thin halo of candescent blue as he moves to dodge.

Drogon isn’t built for speed, however, and though he dodges the worst of it, the elder’s antlers clip his shoulder, splicing the skin eliciting a low snarling curse from the tundrian. It’s a shallow cut — nothing he won’t heal from, won’t even let so much as a scar when it heals — but it smarts and throws him off his game for a second before he surges around and joins her in the chase with a second, defiant snarl, pushing himself through the pain, viciously snapping at the beasts heels ( mindful to avoid the kick of hooves ) as he tries to latch onto a leg and tear it’s Achilles tendon. Tear it and the khal knows it will be game-over for the elder deer.