Neverwinter Forest painted the hunger onto my skin

Drogon recalls as she brushes his inquiries regarding her injuries off as he’d done to her. Fair enough, and anyway he wouldn’t have been able to do all that much, anyway. She repeats his name and profession back to him in tundrian and he offers her a soft nod of approval. Despite that Drogon hadn’t been particularly hungry when he’d followed the deer’s trail to the herd he’d worked up an appetite during the chase and hunt and his stomach lets out a low rumble and saliva pools in his mouth as his gaze flickers down from her to the kill where it’s corpse is stiff, it’s jaw lax and open, it’s eyes devoid of the spark of life in postmortem. His ears twitch towards her and the tundrian’s gaze lifts to her once more where it focuses as she inquires to whether he has family nearby. It’s a question he should be used to by now, though, admittedly, he much prefers it to are you lost which was more insulting to him than most adults likely realized.

“No family.” He replies gruffly, tone slightly clipped to subtly inform that it was what it was and no he didn’t want to talk about it. He gestures to the corpse with his muzzle. “Ladies first.” And they said chivalry was dead …although it is a bit surprising to be coming from Drogon but he knows that without her aid he would have never managed to take the deer down and because of their team-work they had an all-you-can-eat buffet waiting for them and he'd rather the got to eat their fill before
they were watched like hawks by hungry scavengers waiting impatiently to take their own claims upon the kill.