Change into something more comfortable

You sigh, and start to remove the riding leathers. You'd put them on in anticipation of Freyr leaving the tower to hunt today, but evening is approaching and the other times he'd left the tower it'd been morning. The outfit was uncomfortable to sleep in, and you might as well be well rested in case tomorrow was the day he left.

The riding outfit is shucked off quickly, your naturaly tan skin covered only in simple white underclothes. You're halfway through putting the riding leathers away when you hear the sounds of stone grinding.

Your blood runs cold, you recognize the sound as the tower doors opening.

You shove the pack to the ground next to your burning campfire, not daring to look at the doors. You grab the pail of water and douse the fire before you can think better of it. In your attempts to snuff out the flame pointing out your location, you instead raise a pillar of smoke and steam.

You swear. Nothing to be done about it now. You grab your camouflage blanket and turn to throw it over yourself and your campsite.

It doesn't quite work out that way.

Freyr is a large dragon, about the size of the barn one of your neighbors keeps horses in. He is also currently staring down at you from three feet away. Eyes orange as copper and with catlike pupils stare at you with a keen intelligence. Each of them were bigger than your head. He takes another step forward, silently. The small part of your mind that isn't panicking finds the fact that such a large dragon snuck up on you somewhat unfair.

His scales gleam the same deep blue color as the tower. You've seen accents of copper from afar, and up close now you see his claws and the tip of his wings shine like copper too.

Your heart decides to make up for the fact that it skipped a beat when you saw the dragon so close, thudding into your ribcage rapidly. Your breath comes out in a pathetic **** noise and your legs begin to shake. It's a miracle you don't piss yourself.

Freyr snorts dismissively, looking up and down your weaponless and half naked form. When he speaks his voice rolls like thunder, deep and guttural. "And who," he asks, "do I owe the pleasure of meeting this fine evening?"