Moonspear be devout to hunger, child

Drogon offers Wraen an easy, charming grin as she assures him that not all elves are bad. He thinks, it’s kind of like anything really: there are always heroes mixed among the villains even if they all share the assumed reputation of being manipulatively bewitching and child luring. His ears flutter back as she speaks that if it wasn’t The Glamour that had bewitched her than she isn’t sure what it could be. Drogon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t believe in such things ( fairy-tales fall in a similar vein as gods to him ) because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings and it truly makes for a good story; and she’s — as far as the Ansbjørn leijona is concerned — a compelling storyteller. “Maybe it’s my curse.” He suggests lightly, jovially in jest. Drogon is reminded of Airi who showed her own interest in a different way, though Wraen is not nearly as aggressive as the the other girl. Though Drogon doesn’t realize it: his mother, of whom he looks ( more or less ) like a masculine mirror of had the same cursed blessing ( and that it’s what bewitched the gangster initially, therefore allowing Drogon to be born at all ). He laughs, then, a hearty sound that shakes him as she flat-out tells him that if he’d asked her to follow him that she would have. Drogon isn’t sure if telling him he has that sort of effect on some wolves is a good thing or not …because he’s aware of it now and wonders, habitually, just how far it could take him. The tundrian reclines back upon his haunches thinking about what to say to that. It’s not awkward: he feels no discomfort at her admittance; and he’s torn between wanting to assure her that he wouldn’t have but also desires to be flirtatious because what was the point of being bewitching if he didn’t use it? “Hmm,” is what Drogon ultimately settles on: a contemplative noise that works to fill the silence between them with an accompanying grin to assure her that he’s not weirded out or anything ( he’s just, for once in his life, unsure of what to say ).