Alkamor

There's a commotion at the trading post when Elyria lands.

She can't help but to be curious, and the screaming Wildclaw is.. interesting. In the old curse type of interesting, all growly and wobbly and practically gleaming with magic to the point that the Serthis guarding the unfortunate merchant are hesitating to get close. Elyria doesn't blame them - there's no larger breeds around and the Wildclaw feels somehow wrong, with the way he's keeps alternately growling at the others to tell what happened to his clan, and pleading them to "take them off" whatever he means.

"-- if you don't I'll petrify you in chalcedony and feed to Zoisite once I get home, you can bet I will please take them off, and skin your guards and bring those as gifts to Grende--"

Wait what

Elyria hops into air and with just a couple of wing beats he's over the onlookers and next to the Wildclaw. He looks even worse close, wings ripped and covered in faintly glowing leaves, once-shiny hide dull and covered with matted feathers.

The gleam of magic wasn't just her imagination, the Wildclaw feels like Grenor on warpath, all bristly and sharp like a field of broken crystal.

"Excuse me, but are you by any chance looking for the Clan Under the Hill?"

"Yes no." The Wildclaw twirls around with a jagged movement, wings and tail going to different direction than the head and legs. "Where have they gone the lair is - was - in the Woods but there's nothing just rips in the spacetime but they can't be gone they can't --"

Elyria interrupts quickly before the Wildclaw can start rambling. "We moved to the skies years ago. I can get you there. Just, what's your name and who's the rook on the board?"

Another twitch and the poor dragons seems to be trying to pull of a mouthfull of feathers. "A-- Alka -- Sssss Sarano and that's Borean now get me there now."

"Good good. Take it easy, it's a long flight. Just.. let's get you there and then we can figure out what happened, okay?"