The Scale: Dogfight

Gronn flew in place, innately directing the flow of wind generated from the beating of his enormous wings around himself in such a way that he could hover naturally despite his sheer size. His yellowed eyes narrowed as he clenched his armor-plated jaws. He sensed the air around him, feeling the vibrations of movement flow past him from the wind.

It reminded him of the past, when he was a little salamander trying to survive in the harsh waters of the Valian mountain ranges as the humans called them. His senses had always been alert to the flow of power in the water, the vibrations of every creature that swam and dove, for at a moment's notice, he could be killed. 

It was a feeling of alert instinct that came only to those that were hunted. The type of instinctive feeling that came only when death was near. A feeling he had long thought he had forgotten.