Bramblepoint born and bred and forged from flames

for @Titmouse! ♥

Drogon steels his shoulders against the chill of the grey morning he can feel nipping at his nose, though he is not inherently all that cold. His winter pelage is plush and thicker now than it had been in the summer months in preparation for the harsher months of winter. Already, he’s witnessed his first snow and though the novelty of discovering and experiencing something new for the first time has worn off he finds that thus far he enjoys winter immensely ( though that could stand to change when winter swings to the Wilds in full and unbridled force ). He is tundrian like the nightingale that had bore him into the world. Drogon set out from Moonspear’s borders earlier in the morning, a few hours before the sun had begun to rise in the horizon and even now it’s only half over the edge of the earth Drogon notes as he spares the golden-orange sphere a glimpse where it appears to be immobile in the far off horizon. So, still early morning then, the Ansbjørn deduces. Once more, he finds himself at Bramblepoint though this time he has the intention of scouring it for any lingering ungulates. His chief focus is still on earning his warrior specialty and then his mastery and then tactician but he has considered hunter a secondary trade. Something to at least think about while he works towards his primary goals; and he remembers all the fruit that had been here when he’d ran into Howl.

Much of the fruit should be decaying and the Bramblepoint’s fruit bearers dying until spring, Drogon has learned from watching other trees and other assorted plants wilt and go into what he likes to refer to: wintersleep in his mind ( he doesn’t know there’s an actual word for that yet ). Still, he is assaulted by the sweet — perhaps even sickingly sweet — scent of assorted fruits and berries as he shrugs into the thorny underbrush, pausing as he clears it to pluck the few thorns that tangled in his fur free. Abruptly, he’s reminded of why he’s not overly fond of this territory as he spits out a thorn with a disgruntled rumble in his throat. Still, it seemed a good place to start to look for any straggling herds or lone ungulates so he had to little choice but to suck it up buttercup and deal with it.