Dragoncrest Cliffs friendly, but not your friend.

Tousaint awoke in the morning with remnants of a vivid dream lingering in his mind. He'd been flying over sand dunes, effortlessly winging across the rolling swells of shining gold, aiming for a dancing mirage on the horizon. Water, he thought; it was water, and he was supposed to be by the water, not in the desert. But regardless of how much he flew, the mirage did not get any closer. He longed for cliffs and waves and the dark, cool tones of the seaside- but he couldn't catch them. 

He breathed in a sigh of relief when he came back to reality, loped toward the cliffs and gazed out over the depths of the Pacific. The scent of it was calming. He paused to revel in the feeling of grounding himself in his homeland, though his peace was soon disturbed by the call of an unfamiliar voice at the borders. 

He blinked his long eyelashes as he opened his eyes, and a light frown pulled at the corners of his lips. Curiosity drew him to answer the call, though he became more concerned when the scent of blood lingered on the air. The stranger, in the distance, was darker than the depths of the ocean under a stormy sky- and he had something with him, something Tousaint could not make out until he drew closer. When he realized that it was a skull, one with a predator's fangs, he hissed and drew to a halt, bristling. 

"What be dat- some kind of curse?" He growled.