Moonstone Quarry hurt me? you can’t — i’ve got mounds of thick skin

there was no withholding the incredulous half snort, half snicker that left drogon's black, leathery nostrils in an effortless but heavy expel of air. his eyes roll though the gesture goes unacknowledged in the oppressing darkness. he does not fail to notice the tease in her voice but even so she's done about three — make that four, he mentally corrects himself as she announces that she's heading deeper in the cave — complete one-eighties since they've been in one another's presence. "i don't believe you," he all but purls in response to her flippant and teasing statement about not missing him if he left. his counter response is brazen and confident as it hangs in the air between them, daring her to protest, daring her to make him believe that she truly wants him gone ( though it's hard to find the exit when he can't even see his own nose in front of his face ). there's a charged chemistry between them; drogon can feel it in the air, feel it as it causes the wispy tendrils of his winter mane at his nape prickle and rise. and she's immediately frustrating to him in a way that reminds him of vela — it is different in it's own way but similiar. it draws him in like a moth to a flame. these brazen women who challenge him ( because honestly if there's no challenge drogon will inevitably lose interest ).

the anticipation builds as she stalks closer to him, her footfalls drawing her nearer and subconsciously drogon's muscles pull taunt in preparation for ...something. it is palpable now. the electricity, the anticipation. for a second after he processes that she's used tundrian his world is still and the heat of the chemistry he feels between them goes ice cold like the frozen land of the ansbjørns as he draws in a ragged breath and holds it and then with a sudden rush of heat it returns, slamming into him like a brick wall as he allows the air to spill from his lungs. he forgets, in the wake of what is possibly the most important discovery in his life thus far, that she had announced she was heading further in the cave, he forgot the retort he had ready: something about 'i thought you said there wasn't anything here'. in that moment none of her contradictions matter despite that they pile onto one another. "you speak tundrian?" he does not ask but demands rather pithily. she is close now and in a brief moment of idleness wonders if he were to extend his muzzle in her direction if she was yet close enough to touch and idly wonder morphed into a bespoken desire to do so though he tempers it as best he can. her enigma has just become more intricate and drogon's left with the reluctant acknowledgement that he's even more bewildered and allured by her.