Bitterroot Valley and i saw nothing here but you

Akin to a puff of smoke, he releases a slow, steady breath. With it, every tense muscle unwinds. Prepared for the fall as if welcoming Death’s scythe around his neck, eager to press within the sharp edge. The defeat is bitter. Pride erupts within the volcanic heart of the dragon, but it’d been for the one fight he sought victory in; if only to delay the calamity.
Away Zephyr dances from the vulnerability of the dragon’s throat with a poisoned blade. Instead, he tucks close. Could daresay hear the purr that stirs in both the silver and the red; though puzzled the dragon is by the turn of events.