Ravensblood Forest shoulders smooth as raven's claws

The lion is content to bask for some time, certainly longer than he should have been, and does not notice the encroachment of the dark stranger nor her comrades until it is too late. His eyes open briefly, sleepily, and even then he does not notice the shifting shadow — not until it is more than obvious that the trees are not shuddering, and the shadows are not in fact dancing due to the wind. His scarlet gaze picks up the ridge of her back first, then the spin of an ear. Already the stranger has seen him and disengaged; he wonders in haste if she is to be trusted, and pulls his chest away from the dirt in order to sit up as if at attention. The man scrutinizes this dark shape for a few long moments. When she does not speak nor brandish fang in his direction, Daumier assumes she means no harm. He calls to her in a level tone, salut-? in a voice a touch too soft from disuse.