Drogon

The cold is insistent here, burrowing beneath the ocean-chilled layers of his skin and drilling down into the very marrow of his bones. Knowing that there were endless months of this misery stretched out before him did not soften him toward the home she seemed so comfortable in, and he clung to the memory of the short visit he'd made to the Inlet years ago to witness the death of his elder brother. It hadn't seemed as cold then, although his visit had been extraordinarily short and overlaid with the maudlin tragedy of the whole ordeal. He hadn't known Warsaw well enough to mourn him, but that gathering had brought him back to Rougaru's side and for that reason alone, he was grateful to have met the dying king.

The sound of her laughter is unexpected, and his gaze cuts sharply across to her in wary observation. At her remark, he pauses and grimaces, unhappy to concede the point in her favor. To him, the depths of the jungle were cool enough to tolerate, and on the truly hot days, there were pools to lounge in and caves to delve into. None of that would likely contend with what appeared to be enough winter coat for four separate ponies, however. She lobs his jest back and him and his lips quirk in a reluctant grin of concession.

As she agrees to lead him to something warmer, he shivers and then falls into step with her, content to let the silence stretch for now. He had every intention of working to do his father's bidding once he grew comfortable, but the slow feeling of freezing from the inside out was far too distracting to allow strategy.

Beside him, she remarks that he hadn't told her his name and a bitter smirk twitched on his lips. He knew it was childish of him, but considering she hadn't named a child in her challenge, he doubted that his name mattered to her anyway. He could be faceless child number four for all that she seemed to care. Even so, her attempt at humor had carved away some of his ill will, and the promise of a warm reprieve of any kind was enough to chip away at his anger for the time being.

"You hadn't asked." He responded dryly, his damp tail clinking faintly as he swished it around his hocks. "Still haven't, actually," he continues with a marked look at the mare, as if subtly challenging her.

He doesn't leave the challenge hanging long, before acquiescing to her unspoken request. "Drogon," he said quietly, tempted to add the honorifics of the sire he'd never met the same way his brother had. He'd never said his 'real' name aloud to anyone before. The thought of introducing himself as Drogon de Devil's Retribution seemed pompous, especially considering he'd never met the man. Drogon de Rougaru was certainly better, but it was not his adopted sire's custom to name his children in such fashion… and he was pretty sure it would win him no favors with Valka anyway.

The herd they were aiming toward was still far out of earshot, but he found himself curious all the same. He didn't particularly mind walking in silence, but it didn't feel productive either. Lifting his head briefly (and regretting it as the cold seeped up under his tucked throatlatch the instant it sensed any kind of warmth), he gestured toward the herd before returning his gaze to Valka. "What about them?"

Can you feel it?