Moonspear and the dogs again, again —

The fall back into routine is easy and in some ways it is relatively mind numbing. There are no scents that should not be upon the borders and thus nothing to inadvertently catch the Ansbjørn’s attention. He moves about his patrol and business in a mechanical sort of grind, mentally sorting through the things he would share and the things that he wanted to keep selfishly to himself. There are still things he needs to sort through personally from his trip ( a vague nod to his reunion with Hemlock that Hel does not want to make assumptions on ) and on whether they hold significance to Moonspear or not. He works through these now, switching between rubbing his heavy-set shoulders against the conifers, leaving behind small tufts of loose fur, scratching his paws on the frozen earth to release the scent from the glands in his paw-pads and urinating.

Drogon had just lifted his leg to urinate when a voice bellows out to — presumably — to him loudly. His ears flutter back and with a dramatic roll of his eyes the sakaali abandons his hopes of urinating on the stretch of borders because the urge is now gone thanks to the startling — albeit impressive and perhaps unnecessary — yell. The early morning is still and quiet and he can hear just fine, thankyouverymuch. He turns to face her, kicking up clumps of frozen dirt and frosted grass, fixing her in his glacial gaze. “If you’re trying to wake the dead you probably succeeded.” He teases with a coy grin. “I’m not deaf, y’know.” He’s never met her before, he knows that much, but it’s unmistakable whose daughter she is. Besides himself, Charon and Amekaze’s offspring are the only children in the pack ( well, he can hardly be considered a child since he’s more or less an adult and would be joining the adult ranks in a few weeks time ) but even if they weren’t she looks just like the Moonspear’s speckled king.

Drogon’s chest puffs beneath his blueish, silvery mane, the wispy tendrils tickling the underside of his muzzle as he tucks it down to protect against the biting wind that howls through the trees and around the spear-tip mountain on a particularly strong gust. “Is there something I could …uh, do for you?” Because obviously she had some reason or another for all the ruckus made to get his attention.