His expression doesn't change in the slightest as she replies. If anything, it grows harsher. It's not until she takes her gold and starts to leave that he lifts his head up again, chin turned up. He is a proud and powerful creature, he refuses to waste his time on such a petty encounter, especially when she responds with such defeat.

But when she mentions Pyresia, he takes pause. A long talon taps against a rock in thought. [color=6ecff6]"So there are..."[/color] His head dips and he looks down as he mulls this over. Drache finally disappears from view, leaving him to the silence of the night. He takes slow, deliberate breaths as he determines what he is going to do now that he's free, taking into account just how much time has passed.

It's in this moment that Genrit acknowledges just how alone he is. Before he was frozen he at least knew a few trustworthy dragons. But they could easily have died during the death of magic, let alone the other hazards dragons can face over hundreds of years. It could be an entirely different world now.

And he's alone.

Genrit's gaze turns up to the stars, his brilliant white scales shining bright as ever in the moonlight. At least the night sky hasn't changed. He holds onto this. He thinks of Drache briefly, wondering if he should have tried to keep her around long enough to gain his bearings. But it can't be helped, he needed to maintain his honour. Even after spending hundreds of years frozen, he holds onto this.

All he has now is his pride and the night sky.

He holds onto these things.