Drogon

Like the ocean tides, change came regularly to the islands in sweeping waves that threatened to drown those that did not heed cautionary tales. Faces that Drogon had grown up knowing were now gone, and their absences left scars on his father that were not as easily seen as those left by his opponents. With Monster absent, the weight of the Queen's crown fell solely onto his mother, and while he was wise enough not to admit it to her, Drogon could see the fine cracks beginning to appear in her patina.

Vanya had always been meant to be a Queen, but his father had not selected two Queens to rule it unintentionally. Rougaru was a determined and capable man, which was a combination that often left discord in its wake. Unhappy mares, unhappy alliances, and unhappy enemies all needed to be dealt with at some point.

And with a war on their shores, that point needed to happen sooner rather than later.

The changing of leadership in the Ridge had not gone unnoticed, but Vanya was still irritated at the lack of progress they'd managed to achieve with the warrior Queen. Arguably, the absence of Xiomara from the Shore should have been a boon... but Drogon had his doubts. In the wake of his father's success with the spotted Cove mare, the seal brown stallion found it highly suspicious that the roan was gone, and in her place stood her son and a pinto mare that bore a striking resemblance to the stallion Drogon remembered.

Still, it wasn't as if Drogon could waltz into the Shore and demand to know the particular circumstances of what had happened... but it didn't stop him from wondering.

Drogon turned from the familiar patrol he'd been taking through Paradise to cut northward, skirting carefully between the Shore and the Harbor. He was careful to stay just near the boundary line in case either leader happened upon him and demanded a reason for his presence. The quiet Harbor stallion had not yet made any sort of trouble for them, but Drogon didn't want to give him a reason to dislike Paradise when the potential of turning him into an ally still remained.

She was not hard to spot, when he finally arrived. Her pale body was marked with a crimson shawl that glittered in the Atlantean sunlight. It was rare that Drogon felt any sort of desire for much of anything, given how fiercely his mother had taught him to tamp down anything that was inconvenient for her, and yet he found himself staring at her melancholy face.

Fall still lingered on the islands, driving many into poor decisions with long-reaching consequences. Drogon had never counted himself among those easily swayed by sex; even Kvasir's conception had come about as part of his own plans to undermine the Bay. And yet... Drogon could not deny that a part of him wondered what it might be like to sidle alongside the loudly painted mare and embrace her the same way that he had Svenja.

Memories of Rougaru's deal with the Ridge Queens Faolain and Rivaini stirred in his mind; at the time, he'd found it a messy way to bind the herds together, and one that had not necessarily resulted in the best outcome. Then again, if Drogon was being honest, Rougaru had always been a third man trying to edge his way into a couple that was not particularly welcoming.

Perhaps if the leader was alone, without a partner of her own, such a deal might work more smoothly. He couldn't know that this painted mare was alone of course. Drogon knew little of her beyond that she was largely solitary in the Ridge still, but that was enough to give rise to a plan of his own.

He moved toward her then, halting when he was only a few paces away with a half-smile that aimed for compassion. Her melancholy demeanour and the fact that her trails at the border had lacked the scent of anyone else implied to him that she was pining for someone. "You look like you're missing someone." It wasn't a question, and yet his dark eyes rose to hers as if looking for an answer.

Can you feel it?