Lion Head Mesa craving something that is just out of reach

quiet steps leads the sandviper forward, frostbound gaze ever-assessing. the flatlands are different from the lowlands and for a moment, dracarys feels a small pang of longing for the sands of some of it's territories. like a homesickness for a place he had never really known. hiraeth, he thought it was called.

the chill of the morning prevails into the afternoon as the sandviper familiarizes himself with the mesa. almost forlorn, dracarys watches the sky grey and feels the crisp bite of the air before it begins to snow.

a low snort pushes past him, but he keeps moving, even as snow begins to blanket the fur of his back.