Valley of Gold the drake

ikaros has always fucking hated the heat. 

he moves beneath the sun, the darkness of his pelt absorbing the light. soaking it in, making him unbearably hot. he's pissed—then then again, when wasn't he? 

lips pulled into a grimace, his ears turned sideward. irritated, hot, and hungry. a terrible combo for a man with a short fuse. he doesn't know why he traveled this way; there was no good reason. he didn't like change, and he'd just tossed himself into hell. quite literally, in his opinion. 

but, it was too late to turn back. at least without something in his stomach or a drink, though he doubted he'd find either in this fucking wasteland. 

he'd smelled wolves earlier. how in the hells could anyone live down here? baking in the sun all day, only to deal with the freezing cold nights. he tells himself he won't stay southern long, but...

indignantly, he continues trudging through the scorching sand. perhaps traveling down here would be worth something in the end.