She half expects the wolf to tuck tail and run. To try and escape the clutches of her sinister brother. Yet Drogon is now in the charcoal sights of Blackthorne and what escape could he muster that didn't involve a fight? Natiya is impressed at the lack of emotion that Drogon manages, hiding away any thoughts and feeling. It is a thing that she has worked to master. A difficult thing for which she admires in others. Blackthorne was different - he used feelings to mask others. A distraction of sort, a magician. Her words are not as slippery as his; whatever meanings Thorne has are hard to pin down at times and so she lets him talk, a silent presence to dissuade Drogon from running.

Was that interest in his eyes? Thorne is uncertain of it but he salivates at the very idea. The only scent from here that he can get off the male is of the free lands with no discernible home and thus the Darkbringer assumes him a loner. It is his dark coat that likely attracted the attention of Raum. It had taken Thorne a while to puzzle out her disdain for his muzzle but he had grasped that it was because he was not black. Ah, well, perfection was in the eye of the beholder.

The male is on alert, his body positively giving off vibes of reticence and defensiveness. Yet he answers the question put forth without dodging it. Without trying to escape from the moors. Blackthorne drives closer to the male, his own silver cowlick rising in response to the hackles of the male, his wicked smile still settled on his features. Natiya glides silently at his side, shifting and moving with each minute movement of her brother, her eyes cautious upon Drogon. "Drogon," Thorne replies with a gleeful voice, a twitch in his step as if he wishes to dance but also a certain bloodthirstiness to him. "Do you wish to fight, Drogon?" His eyes narrow, tongue racing across his lips for a moment before grinning once more. "I can acquiesce if you wish. Nothing like spilling a little blood to get to know one another, eh? Blood tells more secrets than words." He pauses a few feet from Drogon, cocking his head. "Since my Bonecollector was so kind to collect you, why don't you stay for a bit? Really, what have you waiting for yourself back out there?" He gives the male a moment to respond, if he wishes. "I am Blackthorne, Darkbringer of Iromar, and this is Natiya, my Silverknife. Hmm, I'll bet you are rather adept at fighting. Natiya has not had the chance to practice of late. Natiya. Dance with Drogon."

Blackthorne takes one step back, a fervent look in his eyes, and the moment his demand leaves his lips the silver figure of Natiya darts forward. She is long legged and graceful, her steps silent and swift. She aims for the neck of Drogon, ears pinned back, attempting to lunge in and use any distraction to take a swift bite, yet despite her rank she is unskilled. Oh, Zharko had trained her, but Natiya had not fought one on one with another wolf since and she knew that this was Thorne's way of testing her as much as Drogon.