Ouroboros Spine even atlas cannot stand forever

Perhaps he is underestimating them: he’s seen them at their weakest, on the verge of extinction where pups nearly outnumbered the adults; but they made a grave mistake in thinking he was unworthy of a manhunt. Or perhaps they had hunted for him: he was smart enough not to linger in one place, to mask his scent. It doesn’t matter now: they would not be able to recognize him. He looks physically nothing like the small, frightened cream puff Nyx had taken in. He does not look like Kahlil anymore and for that he’s grateful. She asks what the Woods had done to earn his ire, assuming that his bone to pick is with the whole and not with the individual. The truth was: he had nothing against the Woods itself. He didn’t agree with their coveted secrets and false deities — but he’s always been confrontational — and he didn’t agree with the fact that they deign themselves the choosers of who lives and dies when usefulness runs out. Like a wolf’s worth has a limit. Secrets and lies. Drogon wants to think that he has no time for either but he remembers what he offered Hydra: that he would go in undercover if she wanted him to ( playing off the fact that he is physically unrecognizable from the small, creamy white child he’d been when they’d known him ); and all she had to do was give him the word. Does that make me like them? Perhaps he is more than he would care to admit and thus does not inspect it too closely for fear of drawing parallels he is happy to turn a blind eye to.

“It’s not the Woods I care about. It’s the boy. In my birth pack if you make a threat you better be ready to deliver upon it. I detest hollow threats. In my mind, he sought to make an enemy out of me and so an enemy he has made. I was contented to leave him be when I left that place but he’s made an act of war with my pack by attacking without cause and I’ve no qualms about joining in on the coming war.” He was bred for it, for war. In fact, Drogon was looking forward to it: because he wanted to be the victor. He wanted it so bad he could taste it ( even after all this time he still strives, endlessly, with little to no boundaries ) to prove himself the superior clearly there’s too much testosterone raging about in his growing body. To give that smug bastard the biggest fuck you of all time. Drogon doesn’t know that would he not have wandered off that fateful day he might have found himself in this place anyway though desiring to wage war in vengeance of everything his parents had suffered for the mistake of two that had unwittingly dragged the Fearghals and Teaghlaigh into their scuffle with the Blackfeather wolves.

She cackles at his revelation of the cause of all these problems. Evidently, they shared a similar problem. “It’s just him they want. To answer for his crime. It’s just him I want. We could help each other.” Drogon can’t say he really trusts her: but she could be invaluable and he isn’t about to pass up the chance to strike a bargain with her if it means it will win them the boy’s head severed from his body.

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