"oh, come off it," he exhales dramatically as he moves to try to slink past calhoun. "don't be such a bastard. they're a kid," the bard laments with equal theatre.  his rosy eyes follow the young wolf in front of them.  given that ravinger is so new to the wilds, he hasn't the foggiest idea who the yearling is or where he's come from.  although, that doesn't matter, as his gaze finds the bouquet of flowers, and he immediately exclaims in delight.

"my, my, a fan!" ravinger chirrups, sweeping forward in an effort to snatch the flowers up.  he knows they're for him without any second-guessing, as usual. "how lovely of you; how nice.  don't you think this young fellow is thoughtful?" the words are cast over his shoulder to calhoun.  if prim doesn't stop ravinger, he's going to pick the bouquet up in his teeth. "you want to come in, pup?  i don't see why not," never mind that he doesn't have the authority to, uh, do that.  in ravinger's mind, he's king of the whole world.

"so, your name is primrose. cute. i'm sure you know mine, but it's ravinger. fans can call me rav, though, of course." his tail sways with delight behind his slender frame, slightly aloft in a show of casual dominance. "king's busy, no doubt, doing king stuff."

the impact of calhoun's bushy tail straight into his face is certainly unexpected.  ravinger exhales sharply through his nose, purposefully pretending to spit out any stray hair that had made their way into his mouth. "rude," he flings the accusation at his cousin with righteous indignation.  even his own family is full of barbarians with no respect for the arts.  his gaze narrows as the baron attempts to allude something or another to the bard.  it manages to go directly over ravinger's head.  

"destroy them?" he balks at the thought.  carefully, with a tenderness reserved for only a pawful, he sets the flowers down at his own paws. "why would i ever do that?  i was raised correctly.  these were a gift." ravinger very pointedly ignores the part where primrose insists they're for someone else.  he has selective hearing, and today, he is perceiving exactly none of that nonsense.  these are for him.  this kind young wolf brought them to kingslend as a pack-warming gift.  perhaps the wolves of the wilds aren't so distasteful, after all. 

cenric appears almost as summoned, and primrose makes a beeline for the king.  ravinger quirks a brow but does nothing to stop the youth.  all he sees is a child begging for the attention of their superior.  it would be cute if he wasn't so confused by it all.  cenric had never seemed like the sort to go around making friends with pups.

There was distrust to the firebirds from one King, but the othere was dutifully filling out a peaceful meeting. Alliances had crossed her mind, but at the same time Kingslend had never had alliances before- she wanted changes, of course. Though it had been proven difficult with the voices giving objections, and the wolves gauging her 'redemption.'

The elken woman was thankful to have her brother take on the more peaceful pace as she took on the more forecful change. She was only vaguely aware of his greetings to packs, as well as the bird-group.

A crowd had gathered, particular to the flower-boy she remembered earlier. Célnes observed from the distant trees as she saw her brother, Calhoun, and even Ravinger surround him so.

he watches the swift motion with which the child is snatched mid-bound. his furrowed brow suggests he doesn't approve; however, his face otherwise reads an expression of interest. ravinger sighs deeply, now seeming bored with the barbarism. "is this who we are now? wolves who manhandle pups?" he shoots a look first at cenric, then calhoun. "the boy brought you flowers, cenric. be nice." this suggestion comes even despite the fact that the king appears to agree.

"if a child can hurt one of our kings, we're a sorry lot indeed," he tosses the words to calhoun. "unless you feel our kings cannot protect themselves from puppies, calhoun." ravinger muses thoughtfully, his pink eyes wandering to examine the nails of his right forepaw. part of him feels sorry for prim; he seems utterly harmless. "perhaps i'll compose a song... calhoun: the mighty child-slayer." he chuckles smugly.

"Pardon me for believing the child brought them to the world's most famous bard, your majesty," he remarks casually, brows lifted as pink eyes seek out Calhoun again.  Ravinger's just gotten an earful he hadn't asked for.  The words of the devout Baron go in one ear and out the other.  The bard's never cared for such talk.  He's loyal to the High Elk and to his family; that's all that matters.  Politics are useless to a wolf of his trade.

"Right then, Calhoun, darling, perhaps you should pray to the High Elf for a bit of restraint," that winning smile returns, undeterred by the Baron's warning words. "You may be Baron, but you forget that I am the grandson of the old King just as much as our valiant leader here.  You'd do well to remember that." He cants his head to the side and trots toward Primrose and Cenric.

"Oh, dear King, I would be happy to escort the wayward boy back home.  He wants stories!  Who better to receive stories from than Kingslend's royal bard?" Aside to Primrose, he whispers conspiratorily: "I do tell the best ones, little duck.  Perhaps I'll write a song about how you stood bravely against the child-slayer and won."