Moonspear do not be afraid to destroy

Comfort does not come right away — not in a new and unfamiliar place and situation. He’s not always been a lone wolf, of course, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t needed to develop those cautions when in Blackfeather Woods because he hadn’t allowed himself to relax there either. Not because the sandy marked boy had scared him but because he disagreed with everything that they were and stood for. There was no honor in killing without motive, in hiding behind gods to excuse actions, to use poisons and secrecy — but these things are just Drogon’s own opinions on the matter. His ear twitches as they walk the patrol as she asks him another question: this time regarding what being a lone wolf was like. He draws in a breath, glacial gaze sliding to the free territory outside of Moonspear’s borders, vigilant even as they hold conversation. There was no simple, starkly black and white answer to that question; it was loaded and heavy and conflicting.

“It’s freedom but that is a small boon in the face of what it actually is. It’s incredibly lonely. It’s going hungry because you didn’t catch a meal, it’s constant danger and fitful sleep or else you run the risk of becoming something bigger’s lunch. At first, I’d loved it.” Of course he would revel in the thrill, in the constant danger because Drogon thought his youth and mercenary trade made him invincible, because he was all too happy to break the chains of law that had previously bound him. Being a lone wolf had hardened his resolve, had made him strong but he’d realized that it wasn’t all the glamour it appeared to have because no one ever thinks of all the risks. The risk of death of injury, the risk of going hungry and starving to death — he’d done alright after he’d left Blackfeather Woods but if not for Cascada, a few strokes of luck and hunting partners he knew he’d be a lot worse for wear then he was currently. “but no one ever tells you that, no one ever thinks about those things.” They were social creatures by nature, designed to live and operate in packs, after all.

Idly, Drogon wonders when his outlook on it had changed and if that part of him that had been childishly rebellious was beginning to mature. He thinks so, but it’s still too early to be sure. He has a history of bolting at the first sign of anything real for him, of putting roots and growing affection, after all; but it'd be really nice to know that he's willing to lower that guard and ...stay. To see what planting roots and allowing himself to flourish might hold for him. It's unfamiliar territory, vastly unknown and mildly terrifying for him but he's grown tired of running from things that could be incredibly good for him if he'd only give it a chance.