Sleeping Dragon i'm a cask of oak, i'm whiskey soaked

hey it’s okay. i ended up getting pulled away.

 

The ringing of an unfamiliar voice shook him from his stupor. Brutus turned daftly, swinging his head from side to side. It was not long before he locked his golden gaze on a dark splotch. She was no more than a few leaps and bounds away from the warrior. He thought it off that she should appear so small to him. Brutus gazed on her from his perch before he opted to carefully pick his way down the volcano. With the grace and beauty of a tree-climbing horse, the bear took a single leap. His paws struck ice and snow. Though his claws desperately attempted to hold him in place, they could not control his girth and he tumbled downward before sliding to a stop. 

A groan was emitted before Brutus gingerly attempted to pull himself back to his paws. His handsome coat of chestnut and mahogany was spattered with a haphazard layer of snow and frost. The earth felt as though it was sinking beneath his legs. Brutus grunted and he shook his coat, sending drool flying from his dark lips and into the air. He was closer now to the inky female. She did not smell as though she was claimed. Breathing heavily, sides heaving and aching with each taste of air, Brutus ambled toward her. Still, he had not answered her inquiry. Truth be told, he had forgotten that it had been her voice that had roused him from his climb. He was intent on closing the gap, though. Perhaps she would know where he could find dinner.