Permafrost Hollows but you're just a black hole

Rumbling through the beast is a roar akin to the storm clouds—thunder clapping. It comes to no surprise that the chimera is defensive of his catch—the dragon understands the allure of treasure, having wrapped his greedily and daring any to catch. If the thief had been swift, and left without being found, the fault would have been on them for not catching—for the chimera being slipperier than an eel.
Yet Kratos catches him red-handed. His imposing bulk spiked akin to a steel wall. He steps forth, demanding with a snap of his irregular jaw at the air. Next it would be his throat.
Serpentine grin curves across the thief, eerie even to the reaper’s son who is used to a life of nightmares. Pale gold eyes narrow—watching with intrigue as the cache spills down upon the walls of the Hollows. Kratos sniffs, unwilling to lower his head with the chimera so close. Instead, he steps again, bullying his way over the cache with his posture posed aggressively. Mine.