Dragoncrest Cliffs i know what's waitin' for me

a wild naturalist thread appears!

rhaegal waits until the sun has dipped beneath the waves to venture out to the sands. the sand that shifts underfoot as he moves towards the roaring tide is cold and dusted with the light snow that had fallen on and off during the height of the day.

the sky, now, is blissfully clear.

frigid; each breath that passes thru his lips or black leathery nostrils a tendril of writhing steam.

the waning moon is but a silver crescent; offering little in the way of light.

the stars spread out overhead like a celestial map and rhaegal settles upon his haunches, head tipped skyward to allow his golden gaze to trace them.