Moonspear but when it comes you close your window

editing a small conclusion on this & archiving. :-)

Drogon’s ears slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull as Terance counters his statement about his lack of imagination not being a thing and announces that ‘Ares’ is “fucking stupid”. The tundrian lets out a low grunt ( of possible contemplation ) as he deduces that ‘Ares’ must be the ram. “It has a name?” Drogon can’t help the snort that tears itself from his nostrils. Why, exactly, did imaginary shapes in the stars have names? “No, it’s not.” The leijona responds in a quiet, gruff murmur of agreement. His gaze lowers from the stars ( though it’s a useless venture for Drogon as he cannot make sense of nor see any shapes in them ) to focus upon Terance as the older male asks him what he does. “I’m a warrior and a tactician …or I will be when I earn my specialties,” Drogon gives a moment’s pause before adding, “and I hunt.” Though he tends to grow bored when he’s out tracking the movements of the herds. It’s fine when they’re on the move but he can only stand about half an hour of watching them graze in one spot before he starts to go stir-crazy. Drogon and sitting still do not mix very well.

The pair talk for a little while longer before, eventually, parting and heading their separate ways within Moonspear's territory.