Altar of Twilight i'm feeling primitive

Drogon isn’t what one would call a night owl per say but admittedly, he gets some sort of thrill from stalking herds at night if only because he can ( kind of ) blend in. His mane prevents him from being able to meld into the shadows entirely but on nights when the moon graces them with her delicate and sweet light he thinks it could easily be passed off as a touch of moonbeam. Or rather, he would, if he was the poetic sort but he is not. His short-cut path back to Moonspear takes him through the Altar of Twilight where he comes across a svelte, white girl. He recognizes her as the youngest princess of Moonspear but he’s never formally met her. Or introduced himself even ( which was probably rude, come to think of it ). He lets out an chuff of greeting as he approaches, his steps slowing to a halt as he glimpses from the pale sylph to the familiar form of Hydra lingering nearby. Drogon offers his mentor a respectful nod before his attention turns to her young sister. “I don’t think I’ve ever properly introduced myself.” He’s been busy though, he tells himself. With Blackfeather Woods, patrolling, tracking and earning his warrior specialty. Drogon’s schedule doesn’t leave much room for socialization ( but he knew if he really wanted to he could make some room; that was what he was doing now, after all ). “I’m Drogon.” He offers his name with a grin teasing the edges of his lips upwards.

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