Luneshale Pass with fire and with blood

dawn rain showers brought with it the distinct scent of petrichor; earthy with notes of sweetness that dracarys cannot directly place. he lingers in an outcove of rock, avoiding the rain for the moment despite that he might want to feel the cool kiss of it as it sinks into his fur when the sun crested the horizon.

already, there is heaviness to the usual arid air, a thick soupy dampness.

dracarys is no weather expert but he suspects it means the day would grow to become unbearably hot.

he shifts, plucking a small pebble from betwixt his left front pawpad, large paw lowering and frostbound gaze locking in on the woman peering into every crevice. clearly looking for something. or someone. the siren prince shifts then, pushing himself to his paws; low chuff of greeting slipping betwixt his lips.

looking for something?