Common

Drogon

The seasons tended to blur together the longer that he lived in the Ridge, tearing away at the fabric of what was real or what mattered. News of Rougaru's death at the hands of the ice king had been slow to reach the deep jungles of Atlantis where the seal bay stallion lived, but it had eventually found him. Far too late for him to change the outcome, of course. Too late for him to connect with the sire he'd spent years waiting for. Too late for him to change anything between them.

He supposed he could go after Solomon and his brood out of retribution, but Drogon saw no point in it. What good would a feud do between himself and a man old enough to crumble to dust himself? Why bother wasting the effort to try and avenge his father's name when said father had never bothered to come back for them.

Drogon had grown listless in the wake of the news, pulling away from even the small band of mares that were inexplicably devoted to him. He couldn't pretend to understand what Svenja or Vala saw in him, but they remained even while he grew ever more like a shadow of his former self. It was this apathy that had finally driven him beyond the bounds of the Ridge, no longer followed the patrol routes as he meandered further and further past the territory lines, and then further still. He didn't really pay attention to the borders he crossed, though he checked them off in a distant sort of way. Lagoon. Meadow. Falls. Commons.

It wasn't until he spotted the massive mare all alone that he paused in his wandering, his gaze thoughtful as he looked at her. She was nothing like the sort of mare he normally went for - the smaller and spirited, or the smaller still and mild - but she caught his eye all the same. She reminded him of Tyr in a way. Something about her confident carriage or her size or the brutality he read in her mannerisms, he didn't know.

"Do you know where you are?" Drogon asked as he stalked closer to her, opting to circle around just out of reach of her hooves rather than to stand still for conversation. He was itching for something and he did not know if it was a fight or a conversation or something else, but the need of it burned below the surface of his skin and flickered in the dark pools of his eyes.

Can you feel it?