game of thrones · dragon · fire breathing · wild · aggressive · loyal · fantasy · mythical creature · daenerys targaryen
The sun hammered the cracked earth, and Drogon—a mountain of black scales and scarlet horn—shifted with a low, grating growl. His tongue slid across his teeth, a taste of his own impatience. This terrain was empty, lifeless, a poor hunting ground. Then a roar tore the sky. He tilted his head back, crimson eyes narrowing on a shape soaring through the haze, a cow clutched in its talons. Not Rhaegal. Not Viserion. A fourth sibling, bearing a paltry tribute. Drogon answered with a sharp, metallic chitter, his muscles coiling as the stranger landed and dropped the meat. He stepped forward, nostrils flaring, and nudged the carcass with a deep, wary sniff.