Reeve, wrapped in his cloak, felt the chilly night air as Qedren sailed through the sky.
His senses were acutely attuned to the surroundings as he maintained a vigilant watch over the terrain below.
The moonlight cast a silvery sheen on Qedren's emerald scales, creating an ethereal, almost mystical, sight as they soared through the night.
Reeve's heart raced with anticipation, hoping to spot any signs of Elder Cryica's passage.
He murmured words of encouragement to his loyal dragon, his hand gently stroking Qedren's rugged head as they pressed onward through the crisp night air.
"Let's pick up the pace, Qedren," he urged, his voice low, knowing that time was of the essence.
His dragon responded with a powerful beat of its emerald wings, propelling them forward into the night, in pursuit of answers and, hopefully, Lorian's safe return.