Moonspear be devout to hunger, child

A light rain had fallen overnight and the damp curls the longer tendrils of fur along his nape and cape. It’s relatively cool, however, lacking the sticky muggy air that lingers during a summer rain and for this Drogon: thick and bulky with hardened muscle and fur ( so much fur! ) is easily warm. He barely feels the cool air as it is now, even with his fur blissfully dampened as he made his patrol round in the light rain. He worried that he would struggle with accumulating to pack life. In some respects, he does struggle but as far as recognizing his leaders and adjusting posture accordingly and falling into a routine of patrolling, training, checking caches and hunting has been easier than he imagined it to be. Of course, he puts more effort into it than he might have elsewhere because he is out to impress a certain Cerberus ( …not that he’d be able to tell her from her sisters on sight alone ). Currently, he suspects he doesn’t mean much to the Moonspearians beyond his knowledge of Blackfeather Woods and that’s ok. It’s a start. It’s something. Something for him to build off of, to expand.

He pauses at one of the food caches and roots through it, pulling out anything that carries the sickly sweet scent of decay and carries it away from the cache. He doesn’t exactly care if scavengers go hungry or not but if they are willing to eat it then they are free to pick it clean. His hunt to catch a rabbit to replace what had to be culled was a failure and his pride smarts with the string of the small woodland critter besting him. He huffs and scowls fiercely at the hole it had dived into, much quicker than Dragon who is hindered by his size. Right. He’s not nearly as fast as he’d been as a pup. He was a titan and though he is a powerhouse his speed lacks in accordance. Knowing that he’ll try again later he heads off, deeper into the territory pausing at a rain puddle where his head bows as he laps at the water, seeking to sate his thirst.