It was very rare that Kjors veered his way south on this side of the mountain, his ugly encounter with @Iopah and company still seared to his mind’s eye like a rancher’s cattle prod.  Occasionally he drifted this way, but swung as far as he could from the Falls pack’s territory – they fought dirty, and he had no doubt in his mind that such heathens would be quick to assault him from behind even if he hadn’t broken any such rules.  For this particular reason, he moved quickly – it was a hunt that had dragged him this far south in the first place, pursuing a young buck entering only his second winter.  The animal was flighty, and while he seemed to be well fed, he was nursing a slight limp on a front limb.  It seemed to be a recent injury, perhaps a simply sprain or strain that would heal within a few days, but Kjors would take his opportunities where they were given to him.

Much to his great surprise (and his utter distaste), the animal led him on a much further journey than he’d originally intended.  It took hours to finally take the male deer down, well into the afternoon.  Of course, he’d gorged himself after that particular hunt – a small male himself, it would be foolish to go into the winter with any less weight than he could comfortably carry, and this was the first harsh season in years he would not be forced to weather on his own.  After the feasting came the cleaning of lips and limbs, washing the scent of blood from his body with his tongue, and once he deemed himself cleansed enough, he scavenged a limb from the animal.  (Naturally, Kjors himself had eaten the softest parts, easy to access and ripe with protein, fats, and other nutrients.  They’d spoil first, he reasoned, and he himself had made the kill.  It was his right to hoard the deer’s treasure – it was only benevolence that he brought anything back for the pack’s caches at all.)  He took a hind limb, there being much more meat on the prey’s haunch, and crunched his way through a few bones to make the prize easier to carry.  It wasn’t light, after all, and it was quite a mouthful.  Between its cumbersome nature and its mass, Kjors was slowed considerably on his way home, doing absolutely nothing for his paranoia as he tried to skate his away around Iopah’s territory and make his way back to Hearthwood River to deposit his kill.

This was how he found Kisla, standing near the edge of a bog – one he’d previously paid no mind to.  Curiosity quickly overrode instinctual paranoia and the dragon veered in his course once more, trotting up to her side and placing the hunk of meat between them before casting his gaze out over the murky body of water.  As he stood, it gave a large pop, a putrid smell released from the surface of the water as it continued to bubble.  Wrinkling his nose, the dragon scowled. “Ew,” he decided, glancing over at the Queen. “…th’ hell y’doin’ out here? Nothin’ here t’ find.  A’ th’ end of th’ day, yer another day colder.  Ain’t no place fit fer a lady.”

Or a dragon, he thought angrily, snorting in the bog’s general direction.  “Lemme take y’home.”

Queer, it seemed, that even when he had no intention of meeting Kisla, he still managed to find the woman while he had food in his mouth. And while something instinctual insisted he offer her the haunch of venison, the dragon was able to stomp down the urge back into the dark little hole it’d crawled out of. Even if he was interested in baring himself in search of her favor (which was not what he was trying to do, it wasn’t, he didn’t need anyone’s approval), the horrible stench emanating from the bog was more than enough to put anyone off their dinner.

Realizing the Queen was still on edge, the swarthy male slithered closer, pressing the bridge of his nose beneath her jawline – affection, submission, whatever it was, it was a fleeting moment, there and gone in the the next breath. He’d not come to cause her any distress.

Kjors turned his attention to the waterway in question, ears rotating back as he gave it careful consideration. “Ah dunno,” he replied honestly, his tail swishing behind him in irritation. How it pained him to admit he’d no knowledge on the subject. “Smells sick, though. Like somethin’ dyin’. ‘er already dead. Dunno tha’ we wanna stick around, l--”

No. No no no no no. NO.

“--Lady Kisla.”

“Smells like death,” the dragon repeated, ears folded back against his head as if that might protect him from the putrid stench emanating from the bubbling bog. He could not quite understand the queen’s morbid curiosity with the thick, viscous liquid, strange as it was boiling away like that, until she voiced an event in her past. Something one of her parents (or former packmates) must have shared with her, given the timeline, but ah – he should have known. Kisla was a clever woman, and it was unlike her to fret over nothing.

It stood to reason that this strange spring might poison their own river if the water spread out from its source. With winter coming, it could be deadly for the pack that had only recently transplanted. Without water, they could be forced to move again, and in the harshest part of the year, no less.

“Dunno,” he answered honestly, one shoulder rolling in a half-hearted shrug. At least he’d given up his quest to return the woman home. “Could patrol the borders, make sure it ain’t leakin’,” he suggested, glancing about the makeshift shoreline. “Ask Naia t’ keep an eye on it after. ‘er one a’ th’ yearlin’s, if y’got plans for her,” Kjors advised, humming softly before picking up his head. It shouldn’t take that long to patrol, he figured, and it might put her mind at ease.

“Would be a good task ‘fer one a’ th’ boys,”Kjors agreed easily – much as he didn’t particularly care for the Queen’s second, the scout did have more pressing matters to attend to. Her skills were best utilized elsewhere. A bit of responsibility wouldn’t be remiss for either of the aforementioned yearlings, though the one-eyed beast had to admit he was glad the woman did not suggest her daughter for the task. The princess was entirely too delicate for such a matter.

When he paused and glanced over his shoulder, he realized Kisla was not departing alongside him to their castellated Hearthwood River, with its fresh water and many hidden dens, it was the perfect home for the dragon and his Queen. Nothing like this smelly, putrid place. What had fascinated her so much?

Ah – she was stuck. Kjors veered back towards the female and brushed up against her side gently, following her gaze out to the mysterious, bubbling bog. “Do y’need t’?” he asked, eyebrow raising as he turned his single sun onto the woman’s face. “Some things y’can’t explain. Th’ Mother does as she sees – doesn’ always make sense t’ us,” he tried to reason, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. But it didn’t seem that simple. It had to be more than a strange phenomenon of nature. “There somethin’ else on yet mind, Kisla?”