The Black Dragon's pupils shrank into vertical slits, emitting a dangerous glint. His demeanor was indifferent, remarkably calm. He grabbed the carcass he had gnawed to the bone, tossed it aside with a flick of his paw, and like a cat, stretched out his slender tongue to lick the deep purple stains of blood on his claws. Alcalon exuded the composure and detachment typical of nobility.
Lyle felt that it looked more like stiffness from losing one's soul.
"Come, let me show you my homeland and my tribe." The Black Dragon moved his massive body, retracting his wings behind him, and led the way by crawling into the rift. His pace was not fast, allowing Lyle to easily catch up with him.
The passage through the rift was not small; a Black Dragon without spread wings could pass through easily. The rift narrowed a bit at the upper middle part, with stone spikes hanging in the air like the teeth of a giant beast. The wind whistling through these gaps gave off a cold rustling sound.
