Altar of Twilight show the world that you would eat it whole

Drogon’s ears cup forward, attentive, atop his skull as one of the duo speaks up. She inquires as to whether he’s seen a large, pale wolf bearing a scar across his face in these parts. At first, Drogon is unable to call to his mind any such likeness in any wolves he’s seen, but then again he doesn’t recall ever coming into contact with too many pale wolves. When she mentions, however, that this male she’s searching for isn’t pure white but bears markings of tan the breath rushes from Drogon’s lips in a sound that is near a hiss. Though the tundrian doesn’t have much to compare to when it comes to pale wolves he suspects that Vaati’s tan markings are unique — as unique as Drogon’s frosted, blue-silver mane and mittens. It would be hard to mistake the soturi these days now that his fur has cooled into it’s adult colors. The hairs at the nape of the tundra’s neck bristle and he takes a step forward, chin lifting. “I think I know who you speak of. Has blue eyes a few shades darker than mine? Bears the pack scent of blood and rotting corpses?” He is almost positive it is Vaati and he itches with an excitement that someone else wishes to put that little bastard in his place. Drogon would pay to see them tear him apart. Hell, he was near ready to offer to help …but he has the advantage of being unrecognizable to them now. When the wolves of Blackfeather Woods knew him he was still pale and growing dusty at his extremities and his voice had not yet deepened. It’s an advantage of rare anonymity that the young titan doesn’t wish to lose …not that he thinks that they even care enough to bother to waste their resources to come after him. Still, they’re dangerous and sneaky and Drogon wasn’t willing to put it past them.