The lowlands were not somewhere the Drogon frequented. He preferred the feel of stone beneath his paw to the soft rolling grasses of the foothills. His connection with his home was one that ran deep, as it did with many in his family. But unlike most of his family, he was not so social. Though he nearly always took the opportunities to run amuck with his siblings when the opportunity presented itself, or to spend an afternoon in the delightful company of Semele, he often found himself enjoy solitary travels throughout the realm. Earlier in spring his mother had inquired of all the yearlings what position they desired to work towards, and he had moved up into the ranks of the liege without question. It was the obvious choice for him, perhaps, due to his size as he had already begun to outgrow his siblings. He had only put a few extra inches on by comparison, but the size of his paws and the weight that had seemed to compact itself upon his body were a dead giveaway that someday he would cast a shadow over each and every one of them. So he had joined the liege, had become a scout...a warrior in training. Sleekwing would become his tutor, he had little doubt in that, and so Drogon followed the trails of his uncle down through the lower trails of the mountain. The Castellan of Spirane was well known for his frequent treks along the borders, always keeping an eye out for trespassers and dangers - and of course the odd new comer or visitor. But it was the trespassers that concerned Drogon.

In his one short year of life he'd already bared witness to two wolves who just crossed the border without any permission to do so. And no one had said a thing about it. Sure Hyrule hadn't ended up being so bad, and Yuki was a friend to Semel, so in the end it had all been fine, but still! Shouldn't Sleekwing have noticed their trails leading up into the mountains and investigated? Or was it because they were from allied packs, and yearlings, that the exception had been made? As the light of day faded from the sky Drogon decided to give this border patrol gig a try, to see what it was all about.

But before he ever even got close to the borders he heard...something. He wasn't sure what, but it had caught his attention and as he moved off the trail he had followed and into the flowing landscape of the foothills, he diverted his path from one that would take him to the borders to one that cut through a stand of trees. If there was one thing he had learned about his overlarge form, it was that he was not easily concealed in movement. For the most part, though, he never bothered. So when he moved towards the opposite edge of the copse of trees and a branch snapped beneath his paw, he thought very little of it. That was until a flash of movement, dark against the tall grasses, caught his attention. He stood perfectly still within the shadow of the trees, his almost entirely black form blending well with the twilit darkness. His harsh garnet eyes locked upon the dark form of what he could only assume was another wolf as it disappeared back within the grasses.

Nostrils flaring, he did his best to try to ascertain who it was from a distance. But he could only catch a seldom note of something he did not quite recognize. Daenerys had taught them all - in the aftermath of Kalseru's incident with Iscariot - to think before they spoke. But Drogon was more of a man of action, anyways. As the grasses rustled with the forward movement of the other wolf, his long legs shot forward, carrying him out and into her path as she moved towards a trail that would lead up into the mountains. Even at only a year old he stood almost a full two inches taller than her, and so when he stopped where he guessed she would probably emerge from the cover of the grasses, he looked down his snout at her, lips threatening to pull back until his mother's voice chided him in the back of his mind. So instead, he simply said in tones somewhat gruff for a wolf his age, "Who are you?"