Ouroboros Spine even atlas cannot stand forever

The sun had begun to set when Drogon had slipped out of Moonspear’s territory, much too wired to sleep. It’s getting easier, though, to sleep in a claimed land and for this he is glad. His old habits died very hard but anything was better than nothing and he’d known that accumulating to pack life would be a slow and arduous process ( though pleasantly it’s not half as bad as he first assumed it to be ). His den, however, is still out. Drogon’s not sure that he’ll ever be able to force himself to take shelter within a den without feeling like he’s trapping himself, locking himself in a cage for slaughter. He’s contemplated climbing the Spear a bit to see if there’s a cave he can seek bedding sanctuary in …if that would make any sort of difference or not.

His purpose is not to aimlessly wander as he sets out, closing the distance between himself and Ouroboros Spine. He’d caught the scent of an small deer herd. Between his warrior lessons he’s been trying to keep track of the migrating herds as they pass along and through Moonspear, cataloging their migration patterns and the neutral territories they appear to favor when they stop to graze or bed down for the night. The leijona does not necessarily mind the tracking part of the task — no doubt it can be used to assist with his mercenary trade ( especially if tracking became necessary ) — but he can only spend so long watching a herd sleep or graze before he’s going bored out of his mind.

The small herd has bedded down in the forest at the cusp of Neverwinter and the Spine so Drogon lets them be but because he is not ready to return to Moonspear quite yet, ventures into the Spine. There are a few coniferous trees, defiantly left standing but mostly it’s a giant mud pit: he discovers as he steps in it and his paw is sucked into the mud with a loud squelch. He cringes and retracts his paw skirting around the mud to earth that feels stable, determined to explore further.