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

Drogon does think highly of himself but his own self-assuredness that flirts with the irrevocably blurred lines of arrogance is nothing new. He’s always wanted to be the champion even as a young child. It makes him cocky, more times than not. His vanity is his weakness, an acknowledged one that hopefully as he grows and learns and develops will be able to temper. It’s perfectly well and good to be self-assured, to be dominate and to occasionally show off but he has yet to learn the valuable life lesson that being too self-assured, too dominate and showing off too much is unhealthy for him and others that he would come into contact with. In fact, he thinks that it probably makes him just as bad as Vaati ( and swallows the cringe and bile that rises in his throat as he makes the comparison of similarities ). Drogon’s ears pique atop his skull as she speaks of a proposition and accordingly offers her his full and rapt attention as she lays out her offer in the space between them. She offers him a place: a trade of sorts. For his knowledge he will have a place in their ranks and a spot to join them if a war was brewing on the horizon. It is the first time, the tundrian has well noticed, that he was not once asked if he was lost. She didn’t offer it as a older woman with harbored pity upon a young boy. She treated him as if he were an adult ( as far as he has noticed, anyway ) and Drogon both respected and appreciated that immensely.

The tundrian is quiet for a moment, contemplative as her proposition lingers in the air between them, weighing the pros against the cons. The pros far outweigh the cons and he realized this nearly right away. “I’ll take you up on that proposition,” Drogon breaks his silence to speak, accepting it. Perhaps it should have surprised him: to say yes without knowing much of anything about their pack but winter would soon be upon them and this was always inevitable, in the end. Whether it was with her pack or another’s …he was going to have to give up his enjoyed freedoms to survive the winter, at the very least. “I’m Drogon, by the way.” The soturi finally introduces himself to them, offering a submissive dip of his head.