Moonspear I've been thinking too much

Drogon lets out a happy noise as she moves forward to nip at his shoulder ( because he’s an attention whore and he enjoys her attention very much ), his tail giving a few wags. His ears swivel and then slick back to lay at half mast atop his skull, his blue-black muzzle rising a few inches in contemplation as she apologizes and makes it clear that she hadn’t forgotten about him. So, Hydra then ( which was a relief because he’s still worried about confusing her for one of her sisters ). “You’re a busy woman,” Drogon responds in a no-worries manner. “I understand.” He tells her sincerely: and he does. Perhaps not in the way he would be able to if he understood what it was like to have the responsibilities she did because in that respect he didn’t but he hadn’t expected her undivided attention and in the Ansbjørn’s mind there was no cause for her to apologize. She was doing her job and he was content to do …Drogon things. Patrol, track, hunt, and …occasionally pick a ( friendly! or not so friendly ) fight or two. His body posture shifts to attentive as he pauses to focus his glacial gaze upon her ignoring the small hitch in his throat as he takes her in in earnest. Hydra needed no encouragement from him and Drogon listens to her information with a small frown tugging at the edges of his lips. Captive? Granted, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him but as far as he’d been aware the wolves of the Woods hadn’t had any captives during his short stay there; and if they had they’d kept the very quiet and very under wraps. “I guess trying to murder wolves for no reason isn’t good enough. Now they’re taking captives.” He tries to recall if anyone ever mentioned anything about it but nothing comes to his mind and he supposes it doesn’t much matter.

“If they had captives there during my time among them they kept them very well hidden,” It seemed unlikely that a would could be kept hidden from the rest of the pack for very long, at the very least. “but I doubt they had any. When I was with them they were very small. There was probably more kids than adults.” And even then he’d only met four adults: Nyx, Damien, Miraak and Potema. Drogon swipes his salmon pink tongue across his jowls realizing that he didn’t even stop to think about the captive that Hydra had mentioned: “Is she ok? The Wildfire woman, I mean?” He inquires, unsure if Hydra had actually seen and spoken to her or not.