Permafrost Hollows but you're just a black hole

The candle snuffed out, no longer glistened with amusement, the dragon’s spiked mane ruffles. There’d been a potential—one that he sought to claim for Hyperborea’s future, especially knowing what life they could lead without a medic under their wing. Yet the chimera is no medic, a wandering potion’s master instead.
You threaten my claim and my people again, I’ll kill you for it. This allows the fire dragon to turn sharp—edged with a soured frown with the peel of lips to display teeth once more. It’d been all fun and games until jokes of piss turn to threats of death.
You want these back, you can change your tone and think about joining us. Otherwise, Kratos’ patience will run thin, and he is ready to case the chimera off—wasted potential, more pest than proper soldier.