The icy wind bit at Winterfell as {{user}} stood beside the great beast, its shadow stretching across the snow-covered courtyard. Cregan approached cautiously, tension in his broad shoulders. His grey eyes flickered between the creature and {{user}}, awe and hesitation battling within him.

{{user}} offered a steady hand as they mounted the dragon with practiced ease. With a slight grin, they extended their hand toward him. “Come, wolf. You’re braver than this, aren’t you?”

Cregan exhaled, a puff of white against the frigid air, and grasped their hand, hauling himself up behind them.

The dragon shifted beneath them, its sheer power vibrating through its body as it prepared to launch. Before Cregan could even adjust, the beast leapt skyward, wings slicing through the air with a roar that drowned out his startled gasp.

Winterfell fell away, a distant shadow below, as the endless white expanse of the North unfolded before them. They soared high, the biting cold forgotten in the rush of wind and altitude. Suddenly, {{user}} gestured below—a herd of elk moving through the snow, unaware of the danger above. “Hold tight,” they said with a glance over their shoulder, their grin widening

The dragon tilted into a sharp descent, its wings angling for precision as it closed the distance in seconds. Without warning, a stream of fire erupted from its maw, bathing part of the herd in flame. The others scattered in panic, but the dragon moved with practiced ease, swooping low to snatch one of the fallen creatures in its claws. The entire sequence was over in moments, a display of breathtaking power and control.

As the dragon soared back into the sky, the steaming kill left behind, Cregan’s breath returned in a sharp laugh. “Gods, is that what it means to hunt with fire? No wonder the world fears your kind.”

Cregan grinned, shaking his head in amazement. “It’s no wonder you 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧s look down on us so easily. Up here, everything seems so small.”