Fairspell Meadow crowns sit heavy on the hearts of heroes

The fire-kissed boy did not appear to be in the moment and Drogon cannot help the skeptical and judgmental thought that being in such a clouded haze was not a tactful maneuver. It left the other boy vulnerable and in an especially dangerous situation because of the going-on’s created by his brother and the tangled web that he had drug Blackfeather Woods into. Anyone could have attacked him, taken him in for questioning ( again something that Drogon does not put past others because he would do it if it meant giving himself the edge ). It’s a terrifying thought in and of its own: what he would be willing to do to win. Where did he draw the line? Did he have a line? If he didn’t how did that make him any different and more importantly any better than the wolves of the Wood? “Yeah,” Drogon rasped, drawing his salmon pink tongue across his jowls. Drogon supposes he can relate — sometimes he just gets an itch to wander away from Moonspear for a day …and he always returns as the night swallows the daylight and the moon steals the sun’s limelight. “You seem …distracted,” Drogon broaches the topic with a inquiring tilt of his head. Admittedly, he likes to be the center of attention especially when he’s talking ( someone’s a bit pompous, yeah? ) but there is a strong part of Drogon that hopes that this trip and unintentional run-in might prove valuable to him yet.

250 words