A dragon will always be better at sensing patterns in the wind than a man looking through one's eyes, no matter how magical— a strong current comes to them, and Caraxes adjusts easily; Daemon is still trying to pay attention to Jon best he can. He shifts his weight, not moving entirely put preparing himself to have to dive if need be. Feeling no anxiety about it, merely keen awareness. Shit happens, when people are learning to fly on dragonback. One has to be easily adaptable.

Something else shifts. He doesn't know what. He feels Caraxes make a low grating sound, one that Rhaegal will surely actually hear, and has no way of knowing what's being communicated. (Probably just a You good, kid?)

The Blood Wyrm dips down on the younger dragon's right, and Daemon looks up as they go, catching sight of Jon. Even at the odd half upside-down angle, it's hard to miss the way the odd northman seems to be fumbling, now. Caraxes evens out below Rhaegal to one side, and Daemon whistles, an ear-splicing sharp noise, audible from dragon to dragon.

Checking in. Do they need to go down?