Drogon

Drogon couldn't help the flicker of surprise that brightened the interested gleam in his eye as she volleyed an unexpected question back at him. Of all of the things he would have expected her to ask about him, inquiring as to whether or not Drogon had officially been born in Paradise was not one of them. It was an oddly personal question, which made him hesitate briefly before deciding there was no harm in offering the truth.

"Yes, I was." He offered quietly, his lips curling into a faint smile. Whether or not Drogon's birth in Paradise had been by Vanya's choice depended on who you asked, with his mother firmly claiming that she had orchestrated the whole thing, and Rougaru giving a far more believable account of forcing the painted mare's hand. Either way, Drogon had spent most of his formative months learning the jungle firsthand until his traitorous mother had sheparded them both to the Peak during one of her fits.

The painted mare spoke again, absolving him of the responsibility of searching for her lost herd members while also subtly indicating that she was not truly alone, although he was inferring a lot from her indirect speech. He found himself drawn in not by her words themselves - although the sound of his name in her accent was arresting - but by the cadence of her speech. It was almost as if she were singing to him with each statement she offered, and he kept finding himself compelled by a desire to share more with her than was strictly wise. She was no Svenja, already known to him. He did not yet have reason to trust her beyond blind instinct, and he knew better than to trust where his instincts were leading him this time of year.

And yet he did not walk away.

He smiled and nodded at her claim of the rivers somehow running away from her, but did not question her further. Drogon supposed he should be more cautious of this mare who seemed to speak in riddles, and yet he sensed no threat from her, only a pull that he could not describe.

Sensing that the rivers she spoke of were of some importance to the mare somehow, he elected to ask more about them. "Do the rivers hide often?" He still had no real idea what she was speaking of, but they clearly meant a lot to her. He tilted his head inquisitively and noticed for the first time that one eye appeared cloudy when compared to the brilliant blue of the other. Before he could react, she was dancing away from him with a beckoning for him to follow with a flick of her pale tail.

He knew he shouldn't chase after her. He knew he shouldn't follow a strange mare into her territory without knowing what awaited them.

And yet, Drogon hesitated only a moment before pursuing her with ears that ticked warily with each stride that he took. Drogon had never ventured far into the Ridge, and so he split his attention between the enchanting little mare and the new terrain over which they raced. It was not so different to that of Paradise, but he carefully mapped out each step of progress they made. Drogon continued in that fashion for a number of steps before he inadvertently caught a glimpse of her joyous expression and found himself distracted from his careful mapping.

Having been raised at Vanya's heel, and having been isolated from the majority of the herd throughout his childhood, the only soul he'd ever seen light up like that had been his father. To see her wear the same bright smile gave him pause, and he stumble-stepped before regaining his footing. He surged back to regain his place at her side, and without thinking too much of how bold it was, stretched out his dark muzzle to brush against her flank, as if to reassure her that he was still there.

Drogon wasn't sure where she was leading him, but he couldn't have turned back now if he tried.

Can you feel it?