Vignette:Flight

Flight
flew away from Westeros. The stinging snow and wind gave way to a peaceful shower. The dragon burst through a rainbowed cloudbank. A pale young woman lay limp in his grip, the life having long since left her. Drogon’s mother. Dried blood ringed the stab wounds inflicted by her erstwhile lover. He clutched her small body tighter still, fearing she would fall away from him. Filled with grief and rage, compelled by ancient instinct, and lulled into a trance by the sound of his own wingbeats, Drogon kept flying, by day and by night, toward the utter east.

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