Luneshale Pass naught left but the tree you were certain

the figure that greets dracarys at the borders, puts to bed the nagging sense of a familiar scent that the couldn't place. recognition takes hold upon his expression, remembering the warning the man had given him about the cenote. and perhaps he'd been right. perhaps the hunger than gnaws at him, the unkindness of the lowlands came from those bones he'd left behind at the oasis.

or perhaps dracarys was just not used to hunting the creatures that called the lowlands home.

regardless...

he does not understand the question asked to him, unfamiliar with the tongue the other man uses; remembering that there'd been a language barrier between the during their initial meeting.

unsure how to answer, he offers instead: you were right.