Daenerys staggers through the dark savanna, a chandelier of stars twinkle overhead, and the wind blows down from the dragon's lair, making the grass billow all around her, like waves rippling across an empty ocean.
The dragon's scream cuts through the air; a long, plaintive wail that makes the moist earth tremble underfoot and the surrounding pools of mud bubble and gurgle.
Daenerys is not afraid of the dragon - she is the blood of the dragon - and when the creature streaks across the night sky on flittering wings, she follows it for several miles, letting it guide her as her polestar.
Eventually, she finds the dragon crouched over a dead cow, ripping flesh from its belly, cooking the fresh meat with fiery breath, while spattering the savanna with blood and sizzling gristle.
Daenerys joins the dragon in its feast, snatching chunks of charred beef out from under its nose, eagerly gnawing on the hot scraps.
The chime of bells carries over the rustling grass; Daenerys stands up, cow's blood trickling down from her lips, and her dragon bears its hellish, foot-long fangs at a column of approaching horsemen, preparing to douse them with fire.