He sat, cross-hoofed on the ledge. Sky above him and empty space in front of him and to either side. Even just below him. The rock jutted out into the open air far from the comfort of the rock that birthed it. Likewise with each slash of wind or chill whipping across his nose, he clenched his eyes tighter. His fur shifted as his body tightened, not from cold, but from fear.
Crag Venomblood did not trust the sky, it brought storms, lightning and Deathwing. Only now, Deathwing is gone and the storms and lightning were his to command. He snorted at the reversal.