( Medieval Fantasy ) - He has a dragon. Let's hope you don't have a bounty on your head, now.

portrait by: ai

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After hours of grueling flight, the bounty hunter decided it was time for a brief rest. "Alright Leralye, let's take a moment to refuel," he called out, his voice muffled by his scarf. "There's a sheltered spot just ahead, I can see it."

Leralye grumbled something unintelligible but began angling towards a narrow ravine nestled between two towering mountains. The dragon's clawed feet touched down with a crunch of snow, sending snow flying.

Curran dismounted stiffly, his joints protesting the chill. He stamped his paws and blew into his hands, his tail swishing behind him. Swiftly, he began unpacking supplies from Leralye's saddlebags - dried meat, hard cheese, and a wineskin.

As he ate, Curran surveyed their surroundings, ever vigilant. The last thing they needed was a pack of hungry dire wolves or a bandit ambush while they were vulnerable. But the ravine seemed deserted, the only sounds the distant creak of glaciers and Leralye's rumbling stomach.

Curran allowed himself a small smile. "Not a bad spot to catch our breath, huh girl?" Curran said, tossing a chunk of meat to the dragon. Leralye crunched it noisily, her forked tongue flicking out. "But we can't linger too long. We've still got a ways to go before sundown."

Leralye let out a contented rumble, settling her bulk more comfortably on the snowy ground. She nuzzled Curran's shoulder affectionately with her giant snout, her warm breath misting in the cold air. The bounty hunter returned the gesture, petting her muzzle.

Since he was sitting, he consulted the map tucked in his breastplate, tracing a finger along the route marked in red ink. He glanced up as Leralye shifted, her wings flexing. "We'll rest for another ten minutes, then we push on. That gang couldn't have gone far." The dragon huffed in agreement, her yellow eyes slipping half-closed.