Moonstone Quarry hurt me? you can’t — i’ve got mounds of thick skin

♥♥♥♥!

Drogon got himself trapped. Well, perhaps that was not particularly accurate — he wasn’t trapped, not really, but he does not fancy the climb back up the treacherous limestone wall in the pitch darkness. He’s not entirely sure why he even came back here in the first place after the last time meeting Witchbaby and having to have her lead him back up the path. Drogon knows it will support his weight now and he’s not particularly afraid of heights — he can’t really be because of the towering spear he calls home and there’s a slight climb to reach his den which is a small crepuscular cave. No, he doesn’t mind heights at all so long as he knows his path won’t crumble beneath him. He lets out a huff — probably his tenth huff since the moonless night crept through the territory — as if huffing is going to make any difference. Now he’s beginning to remind himself of Vela, he thinks with a slight snort and frown, thinking if he huffs enough the universe might bend to his will. No one knows better than Drogon that, that is not how the universe works.

The sakaali is left to wonder the quarry now, wondering if it truly holds those moonstones like it is rumored and then wondering what it might look like if he brought a small moonstone back to Moonspear for Vela. Would it be taken as ‘I saw this and I thought you might like it because it’s pretty and you’re pretty and yep, that’s it’ or would it signify a commitment that he’s not ready to make? He barely knows her, after all, and though he thinks she’s pretty he also think she’s pretty annoying with her arrogance and her superiority complex and ‘my daddy this, and my daddy that’ as if the sun rose and set and the universe revolved around Charon.

As Drogon moves towards the heart of the quarry, still in search of moonstone but perhaps simply as something to add to his den as decoration, he hears footfalls. The wispy tendrils of his ‘mane’ at the back of his neck and his hackles bristle upon sheer instinct as he calls out, “Who’s there?” Demanding an answer in his gruff, whiskey steeped in smoke baritone. He can’t see shit other than a little bit in either direction and even then it is heavily shadowed. Drogon is going in essentially blind and he abruptly doesn’t like it.