As it turned out, there had been a group of travelers in that very direction. Also, as it turned out, they would never meet the youngish prince, because they had made a very bad mistake--upon coming across a nice-looking horse of the Clydesdale look, with shaggy hair over the horse's hooves. "My," the travelers had though, "What a strange place for a horse to be. On the other hand, what a nice horse. Why, we should take it." And they tried. And they failed.
Because, Célion thought emphatically, I am not a fucking horsie.
Granted, the dragon was probably mostly at fault, because he had been the one wandering around the cold dessert pretending to be something he wasn't, but--but--well, if you were attempting to wrangle a horse, and it suddenly started cursing at you in half a dozen languages, don't you think that a normal person would, er, maybe stop trying to capture the horse? But no, they had persisted.
So, he had, as you might, flipped a shit, wasted everyone in his path, and set out across the tundra, southeast, more south than east. And in the way that things like this go, Célion soon came into sight of a hooded and scarfed figure crunching across the thin layer of snow that Célion's hooves mind no mind to.
Célion didn't intend to stop for the man at first--because what did he care?--but then he reconsidered and decided that stopping to chat wasn't too bad of an idea, and if the man was very annoying, Célion could always eat him. He was a little hungry, after all, and cold use a snack. So when he was within ten yards of the man he slowed, and then stopped far enough away to talk, but not so close as to be intrusive.
In his low tenor voice, which was decidedly odd coming from a horse's mouth, Célion spoke. "Human-Man, I must request that you direct me to the nearest settlement of humans. Please and thank you."
((Hiya, Talyafera. : ) ))