For months, his brothers had done their best to keep his mind busy, his focus elsewhere. They strived to keep him in the light, to show him there was still life to live and experiences to be had. But everything seemed tainted, ruined by the absence of the one true light in his life. Despite the years that had passed, the gaping hole Semele's disappearance had left in his heart and soul had never mended. And it had only damaged him further to see his mother cast down from her throne preemptively by a hunting accident, brought within an inch of her life. The turmoil unleashed within him had driven the trio of young dragons away from Spirane, but upon hearing of Daenerys' recovery at long last, they had returned. And yet, when Viserion went off in search of Arthfael and Rhaegal in search Bastille, Drogon had lingered in the foothills. There were too many memories buried in the heights of the peaks. Semele's ghost haunted him from every corner of the mountains that ran thick in his blood.

So he had turned away after a few days, after seeing first hand that Daenerys was truly well, and wandered back out into the free lands. The cold winds of winter pulled at him, and yet he seemed not to feel them. Aided by a dense winter coat and a thick layer of muscle and fat, he was barely phased by the weather. After all, winters in the peaks of Spirane were often far harsher than anything in the lower altitudes of Moladion.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of the feeling of rock under foot that drew Drogon into the crags south of the valley. Or perhaps it was the fact that this place held no memories that stood out to him, a blank canvas upon which he could cast himself. Though he had roamed this place with his brothers in passing, there was nothing particularly significant about it to him. He maneuvered deftly amongst the rocky outcroppings and sharp drop offs, despite his immense size. As he moved across an expanse of jagged rock, a voice called out. He kept moving, not recognizing the tone, but then the unknown wolf spoke again. Drogon paused, turning towards the source but seeing no one. He nearly continued on his way, but for some reason he was drawn forward instead. He stepped towards the edge, glancing around before spotting the smaller earthen toned wolf standing half a step down from him in another alcove of the rocky terrain.

Garnet eyes scrutinized the wolf for a moment. Drogon stood patiently, tail lifted slightly to match the posturing of the other, but likewise showing no aggression. For whatever reason, he did not turn and continue on his way, maybe seeking something different than that company which he had kept for so long. He was deeply loyal to his family, and his brotherhood was something he had always valued, but at some point it was simply no longer enough to fill the cavernous hole left inside him.

"Who are you?"