Lion Head Mesa i found a catalyst for disaster in you

There is a narrow of pupils within their pools of glacial blue as Khal eyes the adult who barely holds back his snort of laughter. The soturi pulls himself up to his full height, ears slicking back against his skull in a unbidden display of annoyance as his maned chest puffs in what will (some day) become a display of intimidation. “It’s a metaphor,” The tundrian states simply, detached but with a distinct hint of patronization to his rasping tone. Khal is interested in a pissing contest, especially not with an adult who thinks he needs to point out something that is obvious to him and then try to frighten him. “I hope that’s not meant to scare me,” because it didn’t work. Salmon pink tongue slides across his jowls and rows of sharp teeth are revealed for a brief moment as his upper lip curls and then smooths back over his arsenal. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to lurk around children trying to scare them with boasted feats of cannibalism?” The tundrian asks the stranger coolly. Perhaps, Khal thinks, it is enough to scare other children but he has never been like other children and this stranger would have to do a lot better than that.