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

Drogon watches as her eyes flash and she rumbles the words and feathers. Feathers? There is no doubt that they speak of the same wolf — the boy that had ( rightfully for whatever it had been worth ) said he’d never belong. It occurs to Drogon that he never learned Vaati’s name but that hardly matters because the very important key is that the platinum boy who thought himself the soturi’s superior made an enemy out of the wrong Ansbjørn and Drogon knows where the crypt of woods is located that the Blackfeather wolves call home and there is no hesitation, no qualm ( and no future remorse ) about leading this woman and those who would take up arms to join her to their doorstep. To see what those mangled corpses were worth in the face of a true fight. His blood thrums at the thought of it, answering to the call of war in his bones. “No,” The tundrian replies honestly but the left corner of the tundrian’s lips lift in a smirk. “but I do know where he lives and how to get there.” It makes sense to him now: why they dispose of those who are no longer useful, why they might have bothered to use the wolves and resources hunting for him. They value privacy and secrecy and he is a loose canon with a tongue that will losen for the right price. He wasn’t there long but it was long enough to gather knowledge and though he’d never before had intents to use it against them he certainly has no issue with it now that opportunity has presented itself in the form of the identical duo before him.

“What did he do to earn your ire?” Drogon inquires figuring that it's a fair trade: the knowledge of why they want him for the knowledge of where to find him. What he seeks to know really isn't necessarily, per say, but he's curious all the same.