with claws

Melita stands like a woman without a care, her little dragon an equally cheerful and chaotic companion on the edge of the world. Beside her, if not a few more feet back from the edge of the Falling, Ronin has his hands in the pockets of his coat and Sugar coiled around his shoulders. Call her mature (hah) but she's less inclined to catch and play with the thermals and air currents these days, preferring to cut through the air like a knife when the time calls for it. "Hm? Down onto the cliff sides?" the Huntsman echoes, tilting his head and stepping a bit closer to peer off into the churning waves. "I can't say I have," he says. "Not on foot, anyway. I have flown over the Falling as a dragon, and I've swam below it with Remi once or twice, but I've not explored the rocks." He grins. "Why, did you have something in mind?" RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.