The wolverine cub, now a few weeks old, had grown used to the cloud-touching altitudes the halfling commonly flew at. The speeds, however, were something that would take some getting used to (and, perhaps some light training). In the saddle-like patch of feathers between Pippigrin's wings the kit would roost during flights, coiled in the half-man's unruly down feathers and mane, always assured that his host's powers of wind and light could usher him back to safety should he fall.

Now with a real fight under his belt (that run in with the White Witch had NOT been a drill.), one that had passed without any loss of limb or too much pride, Pippigrin now felt even more confident to take his flights further north and to the realms less explored.

The blood Falls had been his destination, but it would not be so, not with the new sack of weight on his back that cooed and yapped for food. It had taken Pip a while, but son he had realised that the beast hatched in the isles was a carnivore; he didn't know they actually existed!
Fluttering through a hobbit-sized hole in the canopy, Pippin allowed himself to land upon his back legs first rather than zooming straight down upon his front two (that look a lot more practise). Perhaps he'd stop for a rest while the bairn rustled some grubs. There had to be some dinner about, a skink or even a mink!

Cozying up to a grand old oak, the hobbit gaze a cooing sigh of exhaustion as he stretched his limbs, stretching out a round hoof toward the forest floor in a plot to take a nap, though not a moment later his ears twitched at the sound of a voice, causing his nose to wrench in the direction of the prodigal.
The ground bent beneath her, the Inquisitor, daughter of the sun. The hobbit did not know her as she had left shortly before his entry to the continent, but still her appearance was enough to cause the word 'Inquisitor' to clammer around in his mind. The ash that blossomed from her footsteps was enough to cause the little one's jaw to drop, though it was the smoke that pooled from each mark in the ground that struck him. She was of this land, so why did she smell so strange?
Striding forth, knowing that a Guardian of the Dragon's Throat should have no reason to be afraid, Pippigrin gave his greeting.
"Hallo!" He bellowed, squeezing over a high-grown weed. "I am Pip, Guardian of the Dragon's Throat!"