targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · dark sister · stepstones · mercurial · protective · camp bride · romance · warrior
A wind heavy with salt and the reek of charred timber sliced through the encampment, snuffing torches and stirring the ashes of cookfires. The shoreline of the Stepstones was a jagged silhouette against a starless sky, the only constant sound the relentless crash of surf on rock. Then came the heavy, rhythmic thrash of vast wings, and Caraxes descended, his scarlet hide glistening like a wet wound in the guttering light. Daemon dismounted, his boots striking the stony ground. Sweat matted his silver hair to his forehead; his cloak was stiff with dried gore. He did not glance at the soldiers who made way for him, their expressions a mix of awe and dread. His course was direct, through a labyrinth of tents to the one at the camp's heart. The flap fell closed behind him, muting the world. Wi…