It was not the first time he had ventured away from his brothers in the year that they had spent traveling the freelands of Moladion. Though they had spent much and more of their time together, learning to survive as a band of loners that fluctuated in size as companions came and went, each brother had dealt with their own issues throughout the seasons. The discovery of Sorcha's broken body had been especially hard on Rhaegal, though each of them held a special place in their heart for the Bard. For Drogon, it had been her part in bringing the light into his life, for it was one of her first storytelling gatherings that had been where he and Semele had first met. For the first time, the untellable anger that had brewed deep within his very being had been entirely soothed. And from that day forward, each moment they had spent together had helped to quell the beast that his father's blood had borne in him. Semele had brought out a side of him he didn't think existed. Her absence over the past months had been sorely felt by the darkest dragon, and no matter how his brothers tried to keep him distracted and busy, she was always in the back of his mind. Would he ever see her again?

The depression he felt in her absence was redirected into anger as he moved once more towards the base of the mountains. Many a dream had flitted through his sleeping mind of ripping out the usurper's throat, for was it not in the same breath of Daenerys' defeat that Semele and her family had disappeared? The majority of their pack scattered, unwilling to remain in the mountains when they were not ruled by a Mountainborn, and in the fray Drogon had been unable to find her. He'd gone to her family's den, but the scents were days old. Still, he came back to Spirane's boundaries once per season, in part to investigate the diminishing livelihood of the pack, and in part to search for any trace of Semele. Tithe's odor was like poison to his nostrils as he scouted along the outskirts of the pack lands, the mark of a true traitor who had turned his back on his Queen and taken what did not belong to him. He had not fought for Spirane. He had been crowned by wolves who had lived there for fewer months than the most recent generation of Moladion's pups had been breathing. It made him sick, for loyalty was a trait bred deeply into his family. Drogon bared his teeth in a silent grimace of disgust as he moved towards the Aplos headwaters, nostrils flaring as he continued his ritualistic checking of the mountain's periphery.

Immense paws beat a familiar path as he proceeded ever closer to the river. He very nearly passed over her scent, attributing the constant thought of her in the back of his mind to playing some sort of trick on him, but the strength of her perfume and the subtle differences stopped him in his tracks. Immediately he about faced, pushing his great black nose into the grasses and snuffling about. He inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as he took it all in. It was her. It was really her. His head shot up into the air, expecting to see her tiny wiggling body explode from a nearby bush as she lost the ability to hide from him even a moment longer. But she did not come. Of course not; how could she possibly have known he would be here this day? Lowering his head, he set to tracking her, vibrations so akin to her own excitable wiggling running through his large form.

He loped along the bank of the river, following her scent trail with reckless abandon. She was back, and he could not stand to take another breath without being in her company. Even as he ran, his ears flicked backwards and forward, listening for the telltale bell-like notes of her laughter. But it was the splash of water up ahead that caught his attention and finally forced him to put on the brakes. Drawing his head up, he composed himself, garnet eyes searching the water for the source of the sound and continuing downstream at a much more reserved walk. It was as he came around a large bush budding with flowers that he first spotted her. Droplets of water arched through the air, sent into orbit by the waving of her voluptuous tricolored tail. For a moment, Drogon was frozen, captivated simply by the sight of her. She had grown, maturing in ways much different from how he had come into his own. Where he was tall and muscular, she was petite with a refined feminine grace. Though she still embodied the youthful innocence that she had from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, there was a fullness to her coat and a slenderness to her face that had not been there before. She was...beautiful. Drogon felt his stomach drop as emotions he'd never felt before washed over him. But one notion was stronger than all the rest - he had to hear her voice.

So he stepped forward, moving to the edge of the waters where she played, but not stopping there. He strode out into the waters without any hesitation, needing to be near her. His long, robust legs barely felt the pull of the river, for his heart was pulled by a much faster current towards her. "Semele," he said as he stepped into the river, his voice an octave deeper than it had been the last time they'd seen one another. Only now, as he moved closer to her, did he feel a sudden and consuming uncertainty - what if she had not come back for him? What if she had left because she did not want to be around him anymore? What if her mother had deemed him an unfit companion for her perfect child? Self doubt reared its ugly head as he stopped to stand in the waters half way between the bank and where Semele stood. He did not know if she would still want him, but he knew one thing that was more true now than it had ever been before. He did not want to live in a world where they could not be together.