______________________ Forge. Scouter Forge is often found deep in another clan's territory, or leaning over the glow of a hot fire in the clan's woods. Well-equipped, and always with Carrignon as his companion, Forge scouts the most dangerous and contested areas of Viridian Labyrinth. He revels in the thrill of running through unchartered ground, marking down landmarks, and exploring territory that should be barred to him.

Son of Raura and Malda Brother of Peach and Memphis Friend and trainer of Moli Slumber victim

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Silently, clawed feet padded the forest floor. The only noise so late on a warm evening was the droning cry of crickets. Overhead, a raven with one large eye embedded in his chest kept watch. A rumbling caw signalled the all-clear, and from his low stance against the ground emerged Forge, stretching his red-spattered wings upward.
"Quiet night, is it not, Carrignon?" He said softly. The raven chattered idly in reply. The air was warm and oppressive, typical of Viridian Labyrinth nights. No creature stirred in the forest, not a soul except Forge and his raven. Forge revelled in quiet nights like these, where he was free to patrol at his own pace, in the company of his favoured familiar. Although the action of a day-patrol was exciting, there was something special about the scented summer air the trees cast about at night. It could be as absorbing to the senses as a daytime patrol, if a scout paid enough attention.

A rustling in the trees above captured the pair's attention. Above them, the bough of a pine tree was creaking, as if under a great weight.
"Maybe not so quiet," he remarked. Bracing, Forge spread his wings until their great surface reflected the moonlight. The beads and feathers adorning his wings swung with the movement. In one forceful motion, he took off upward, leaving gusts of air in his wake.

Balancing on trees is a delicate act. Not quite one that Forge had yet perfected. Leaning shakily on the bent pine tree he chose as a perch, Forge looked out into the dark, star-strung sky for clues.
"Do you see anything?" He whispered. Carrignon cackled in the negative. Forge sighed. "Yeah, me neither."

The rustling came again, this time from below.

Hesitantly digging his claws into the bark of the spruce, Forge began descending down the tree. The creaking of the bent tree echoed in the silent night air. The dark foliage parted as he moved down to reveal a familiar glint - the eyes of another dragon. Plague. Above those eyes, barely visible in the moonlight, were what looked like larger, maroon eyes, the circular rings of a wing pattern. Immediately, Forge let go of the bark, and dropped.

Less than a second had passed, air rushing past his ears, before Forge had pinned the offending dragon to a low bough of the pine.
"This is Ghost Path's Territory. Who are you?!" He growled.
"I'm sorry - my name is Moli." A voice whimpered.

Forge eased his grasp on the stranger, finding his footing on the branch. Carrignon settled beside him.
"What business do you have here?" He demanded.
"I'm looking for a new clan."
"At high moon?" He asked, teeth gritted.
"I - um, I was hoping that no-one would be around at this time."
"Hah. Well. Not all of us have day-jobs." Forge quipped, a glimmer of humour entering his tone.
"I don't have any jobs anymore..." Moli answered.
"Come," Forge ordered, crawling down the tree. He turned his head back to address Moli. "I'll escort you to a place to sleep."