Wapun Meadow thirst

Nose twitches, a wad of snot hanging from the end of it. By now, Kratos is used to the sensation, but it gets annoying if it dries. So his tongue pokes up, whipping the nose and the salty taste of boogers.
It is then that he notices the sleek approach—a stranger acting dominant towards him yet not aggressive per se. The dragon arches his tail slightly, a silent challenge—it doesn’t help that the stench is familiar. He thinks back to the small three-legged boy and the tri-colored madman. Thought you lot claimed the mountains next door. Shoulders shift, head moving down to align with his shoulders after his muzzle gestures in the direction of Bearclaw.