Che'thla was not native to Westeros. The continent, its folk and their habits were all very new to her. She had hoped that upon setting foot in Westeros she would be met with an undeniable sense of relief, acknowledgement, perhaps memories of old. She had hoped the continent would make her feel as though she had entered a second home. It was not so. She felt nothing and was actually rather distressed at the twitching nervousness with which the inhabitants they had come across thus far seemed to move. It was as though it was instilled in their minds that they should be ever-vigilant, like rabbits in a meadow. They had a tendency to distrust and to look behind them as though they expected trouble to jump out at them from behind every corner. 

[b]"Hm..."[/b] Che'thla's companion let out thoughtfully. The woman noticed a cloudy expression taking over the man as a crease formed between his white eyebrows. 
[b]"Not what you expected?"[/b] Che'thla, who had been pushing towards a visit to Westeros forever now, was worried that upon returning home she would have nothing good to speak of, no dragon to deliver, in spite of repeated reported sightings. 
[b]"Perhaps they were wrong."[/b] The man said, referring to the high leader's sources, the ones that Che'thla had enthusiastically received and chose to verify.
[b]"Unlikely."[/b] The woman replied, shaking her head. [b]"If there is even the smallest chance that there are dragons here, flying at will, we must know for sure. It could change everything. For us and for the dragons."[/b] 
[b]"We should check in somewhere. My back cannot take another night in the open."[/b]
[b]"And I could use a bath."[/b] Che'thla added jokingly, the tips of her fingers gently touching the head of a small winged reptile underneath her cape as they made their way through Meereen, in search of a place to spend the night.