Drogon

The change in the Ridge's leadership ultimately meant little to the reclusive stallion, but it had come at a strange time in his own personal life. Losing Charybdis had been a blow he hadn't been prepared to acknowledge, and when coupled with the distance be kept imposing between himself and Svenja, it left him feeling rather unmoored. Not even Estella's sweetness could dull the irritation that left him restless and annoyed.

He suspected it had something to do with the rumors that had finally reached Atlantis of the old wolf's death, not that Drogon was willing to believe them. It was far easier to hold onto the assumption that a pretend death was merely the next step in Rougaru's plan, a way to fake out the current leader of Paradise until he was able to return home and take it in his own name. Besides, if Rougaru was dead, that would mean that his mother was free to roam again, and he had seen hide nor hair of her ungrateful self.

In this period of endless waiting, he had taken to prowling along the outermost edges of the Ridge, always keeping an eye and an ear out for new arrivals. He knew that some of his adopted brothers still roamed other places on Atlantis, but apart from Wulfric he didn't bother to seek them out. Annubis and Loupgaru had been too much competition for his father's approval for Drogon to bother cultivating a friendly relationship with, and that sentiment had not improved over time. They were too headstrong in Drogon's opinion, too willing to follow their noses after the first pretty mare that batted her eyelashes.

Of course, Drogon didn't exactly have a lot of room to judge in that department, but he always reassured himself it was different. Very different.

His rounds had allowed him to crisscross the scent of an incoming mare that was unfamiliar and so he followed it inward idly, not necessarily intending to do much to her. Both Charybdis and Tyr had been distant sort of leaders, the kind that left him and his small herd to their own devices, but that didn't mean that the gargantuan Lagoon brute might suddenly take an interest. It was fall after all, Drogon's body reminded him as it cast an image of a lone, frightened mare in his mind. The sort that - like Valentina - might just want a little company for the night, that might be entertaining enough to take his mind off of his own troubles.

When he found her, she was not as meek or sweet as his mental image had tried to pretend. There was a purpose in her movements that belied a mission of her own, and while that sort of intensity faded as he continued to follow her, it did not disappear entirely. Not even when she lifted her head to peer around her with wide, assessing eyes as if suddenly realizing she was alone in the jungle. Drogon was grateful for his dull coat, which often allowed him to slink along in the shadows like a wraith. He hadn't yet mastered the level of stealth that Wulfric wielded, but it had been enough to seemingly keep him off her radar until now.

"Not afraid of the big bad wolf?" He murmured, pitching his voice just loud enough that she would be able to hear him over the low-level hum of the jungle. Drogon moved forward as he spoke, letting the edges of his body break from the monotonous green as he entered her space. "Or do you just like tempting fate for the hell of it?" He smirked, letting his gaze rake unapologetically across her figure despite the relatively chaste distance be kept between them. As much as he wanted to press into her space and find out how she might wield her own claws, Drogon was not so sure of Tyr to know how much of a leash he now held. "If so," he drawled, returning his gaze to her pretty face, "you're doing a damn good job of it."

Can you feel it?