Dragoncrest Cliffs been countin' every minute

The pressure towards his nephew is released the moment Rhaegal’s head ducks away. Njord’s tongue flicked across his nose before his mouth opened into a relaxed pant. His blue eyes grow soft. All was good.

Njord shifted his weight comfortably as he listened to the description of the man. He approached, with a gentle wag of his tail, to better inspect Rhaegal’s injuries. The bridge of his nose wrinkles in agitation at the image of a vagrant wounding their own. Lucky for them, a black man with a ring around the eyes would be hard to miss. Njord feels fiery nitrous in his veins.

“If tha bastard comes back, we’ll make ‘im wish he ‘adn’t,” he says sharply. The many ways they could make him pay were like paintings in Njord’s head. Break his legs. Pluck out an eye… maybe the one in the ring!

Meerkat appeared to sense her husband’s primitive state and worked to shepherd them both away. She urged their nephew to seek medical attention. Njord acquiesced with a swish of his red tail.

He turned before leaving. “I wish to speak with ye, Rhaegal. Later,” he added. “The young lads an’ lassies of Sapphique should be taught ‘ow tae protect themselves. Protect the pack.” The man lingers on the thought for a moment, Rosencrantz on his mind.