After a few moment’s pause, the Dragon grunted in disappointment, and pulled back, leaving Ferenic unscathed. Fairly wet with dragon spit, but fine nonetheless.

Elek’s jaw dropped as he realized what had just occurred. After looking over Ferenic, he turned his attention to the Dragon.

“That’s your limit, isn’t it? You can’t harm of affect us directly. What’s why you’ve spent all this time trying to steer our people in the direction you wanted.”

Rauour huffed; his anger still very present in his voice. “You can have your moment, insects. My will shall be done all the same. Not long from now, Alexander will rule all tribes, and you will show him your power. The Nords’ very survival will depend on it.”

Deciding to leave the shamanic upstarts with that omen, Rauour took to the skies, heading south – and breathing fir to the previously snow capped mountains.

“So that’s what a Dragon throwing a fit looks like,” Ferenic mused.

“Come on; your people need to thaw, and we need to plan. Let’s put aside our past, and prepare for the real enemy,” Elek offered, gesturing to the other monks of open the gates of the Emberek Village.

“I think those are the wisest words anyone has said today,” Ferenic agreed, motioning for his men to accept the invitation to the village’s warmth and hospitality.