Something was not right. Or perhaps more accurately, everything was wrong. All Drogon could do was stand there, watching as Semele practically seemed to deteriorate before his very eyes. Her head lowered and her eyes drooped in sadness, ears pulling back and form emulating complete and total submission. To what? To him? The thought makes his nostrils flare wide in confusion and concern, not understanding how the girl who stood before him now could possibly be the same as the wiggling, joyous girl who seemed to be the only one capable of eliciting conversation from the darkest young dragon. Blackened toes spread wide, gripping at the stone beneath his paws as he searches his mind for a way to understand, to comprehend what could have caused this. And if it was a who, where they were so that he could find them and inflict the level of suffering that was painted across Semele's beautiful young features. It was so very wrong. She should never wear such an expression, and if Drogon ahd anything to do with it she never would again after this moment in time. He would make sure of it.

But he did not know the source of her pain, and so he could not find a way to end it for her. It had seemed so obvious in the swamps of Iromar. The sounds and sights of the hunt had caused her grief, and so he had simply wrapped himself around her, effectively muffling out the sounds and blocking any potential line of vision to the scene that had unfolded down the hillside. But this is a foe unseen, not yet understood, and so Drogon was left only to stand before her, mind clutching at straws in an attempt to find a way to comfort her. Garnet eyes looked upon her lowered head; for all the brawn he was developing he did not feel he had the power to reach forward and lift her chin to where it belonged. Always those eyes of pale green should look upon the world with the brightness they had possessed before this day, from a face lifted to greet the day with the happiness that she so easily emanated. Not lowered, with such sadness.

Drogon wanted nothing more than to move to her, to fight off this invisible bringer of sadness, but he is rooted to the spot by immense paws, heavier than they have ever felt before. Finally her eyes lifted to look into his, and he found his brows pulling low and close together in concern. She confesses to him that she misses them. Who? He would go, he would find them and bring them back and make them stay. It hurts, she says, and he finds his jaws clenched together as a white hot fury blazes behind his eyes. But he remains quiet, concerned for her in this moment. Those that dared to hurt her would be made to pay for it. He does not know when or how, but in this moment he vowed to himself that he would find a way to make it so. But when she asks if they might miss her as well, his brows lift and his eyes soften in a way they only did when in her presence. For he knows that whenever they are apart he misses her, even though he is well aware that she is somewhere upon the mountain and easily reachable if she desired his company. "Yes," he answers firmly, assured in this. How could they not miss her? Anyone who had spent so much as a moment in her company was sure to miss her when she was not there.

And then, before he can say anything more or be allowed to think for a moment longer upon it, she is there. His chiseled form softens at her touch, allowing her to bury herself within the thick fur of his chest. Drogon finds himself curving his neck up and forward, allowing her to find comfort within his broad form as she slowly begins to sway back and forth to the very beat of the large drum within his chest. For a moment he simply tilted his head slightly so as to watch her from the corner of his eye, before he moves to press his nose between her ears as he had done many times before. He hopes that the familiarity of the action will offer her comfort. Silence lapses between them for a time, and his head simply drifted back and forth, keeping a steady contact with her until she offers him some kind of sign that she no longer wants it or that she wants something else. He waits for any shift in her demeanor, before asking as softly as his gruff voice is capable, "Who is it, that is gone?" He does not want to further upset her, but he must know. He msut know so that he can find them and bring them back, so that Semele could have them in her life again and not be sad at the loss of them. Or if they did not want to come back, did not want to stay and be a constant in her life, then he would end them so that they could never cause her suffering again.