Valley of Gold the drake

a dark shape traipses through the dunes and toward the stranger with intent, head low. he pauses in front of him, towering above like a dreaded shadow.

"you were not invited here. i would know of it." arkane circles the intruder like a predator, scrutinizing. he is not aggressive-- not yet. this stranger is clearly strong, as evidenced by the muscle rippling beneath his coat. perhaps samirseti will make use of him. arkane certainly plans to.

he sits down in the sand, tail sweeping the golden grains as he settles. he has learned to tolerate the heat to an extent, although he still supplements his days with cold baths (alone or otherwise). arkane licks his lips, silently awaiting an explanation. no one would fault him for maiming an intruder, but it would be a downright shame to mar such a pretty coat with rivers of blood.