Moonspear be devout to hunger, child

Drogon’s ears pivot and his tail brushes against his hocks in a soft wag as she repeats his name and adds that she believes it to be fancy, a giggle escaping her at the end, watching as she looks away quickly. The potential reason for the giggle entirely escapes him: he’s a little slow on the uptake. Despite Drogon’s self-assuredness and cocky mannerisms that might give off a different impression he’s rather incognizant when it comes to the fairer sex. Drogon assumes that everyone is as bold as he and this is likely the fault of his inexperience. It doesn’t even occur to him that there are more subtle, artful and shy ways of expressing attraction or interest.

She introduces herself as Wraen, adding with a slight stutter in case he wondered. “Wraen,” The tundrian repeats, testing it out upon his tongue. It kind of reminded him of a bird, if he was being honest. Glacial gaze slides over her once more as she spares him a glance but then looks away fast as she can at a spot on the ground. Ah, he’s noticed it now. Not all of it, mind, but it’s sunk into his thick skull that she has some sort of aversion to looking at him for long periods ( and that’s a start, right? ). “Is there something wrong with me that you keep looking away?” Drogon asks with a light hearted chuckle to insinuate to her that he’s not insulted: just curious. “Wraen?” He adds softly hoping that if she is not inspired to answer the first question that by perhaps using her name she might feel more obligated to answer if he addresses her by her name.