Ravinger had seen her venture off by herself, and it made him curious. Not wanting to startle her, he keeps his distance, hoping to follow without alerting Cynefrid. He's interested in what she's doing, because as far as he's aware, she doesn't often venture out except to obtain herbs. Maybe he can assist her (though, admittedly, he knows nothing of her trade). Regardless, he remains behind, careful of his pawsteps. Once they arrive at the Falls, he diverts so that he can try to act as though they'd just happened upon one another.

He begins to hum, first softly and then a bit louder. Ravinger sings a peaceful melody, inspired by both the serenity of the Falls and the beauty of the wolf who watches them. "Maiden fair perched on the stone / with locks like roses, wind-blown / calls the sunlight to her there / to lie, a crown upon her hair." He spins the lyrics spontaneously, as though he doesn't know she's there (but he does). The bard approaches the pool formed by the waterfall, and his gaze travels up, seeking to lock eyes with the healer. There's a playful gleam in his.

Ravinger feigns shock when Cynefrid calls down to him.  He glances up, allowing his face to go through a range of emotions starting with surprise and ending with delight.   Never mind that he has set up this moment entirely.  Cynefrid need not know that. "Sweet Cynefrid, it is always good to see you," he responds in dulcet tones, his tenor seeming to almost drop a register as he attempts to sweep the other wolf off her paws.  Walking nearer to the Falls themselves, he puts his paws on the stone that separates them in height and bulk and stands on his hind legs.

"Shall I sing you down to me, O maiden fair?" his eyebrows give a little wiggle. "We have much to catch up on, and I would love to steal you away for a time if you aren't too busy." Ravinger has never been a subtle wolf.  He speaks his mind without hindrance, often to his detriment.  Now is no different.  It isn't exactly a secret that he fancies Cynefrid in a way that's beyond mere flirtation.  She's gentle, and there's something about her that suggests she's delicate.  It's for this reason that he practices some restraint around her.  For anyone else, he'd merely laugh, but for Cynefrid?  He'd move a star or two.

"So began her descent / from star-throned chariot ride / to grace a mortal man's heart / 'pon this dull eveningtide," he croons up at her unbashedly, a fool's grin on his maw.

Every reaction he was rewarded with, his ego grew, but with Cynefrid, it was always about more than just that.  Where other wolves might fan the flames of his arrogance, he genuinely coveted Cynefrid's attention and gaze.  Sure, it was fun to play around with her as he often did with so many others.  Even so, with her, it would always be taken just a step farther; it was always just a little too genuine.  Ravinger was such an enamored fool, in fact, that he didn't even realize the feelings he had caught.  Had he been aware, perhaps he would learn to practice more tact.

"You are too kind," he sang her praised with a childish grin on his maw.  As she moved closer to him, he readily offered her a full view of his flank.  She could look as much as she pleased!  How silly of her to call that 'work.'  He always thought himself quite nice to look at. "I was lucky," Ravinger started to recall the fire that drove their family away from its birthplace. "I escaped with only singed hair and burned pads." He lifted a paw up to show her.  It showed almost no sign of the injury. "and even that wasn't all that bad.  What about you, darling?  Who looks after the healer, hm?"

At the handsome bard's whimsical query, Cynefrid would erupt with soft laughter. "A healer can look after herself well too, you know Ravinger?" She said whilst slowly rounding his side. Being cared for every once in a while felt nice, but Cyne knew the basics of what to do when ever she was injured or sick herself. It got a bit lonely, yes, but she didn't mind too much. Its just what she's used to.

Rav didn't seem to have any apparent injuries on him at the moment, and it was a good thing too. Other than the paw he lifted to show her -- and she'd gently take it into her own paw to peer closer. "Do your paws not sting when you apply pressure? Like walking?"

"I suppose she can!--oh, but what a lonely life!" he insisted, plucking her innermost thoughts directly from the confines of her mind (without even knowing).  Ravinger clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes a bit in a show of amusement. "I would say you could teach me a thing or two, but I believe I only have the capacity to learn songs." It was a funny thought, the idea of Ravinger learning how to heal.  He would certainly give a wolf the wrong herbs and make them worse.  With his luck, he would likely kill them.  No, at the end of the day, it was better for Cynefrid to handle the healing.

As the Sawbone began to inspect his paw, he relished in the nearness.  She had a sweet smell about her -- always had -- and he would it intoxicating.  Ravinger enjoyed her proximity and couldn't stop his tail as it began to wag.  Grinning, to Cynefrid, he said with full, oafish sincerity, "The only pain I have in my heart, is when I am away from you."

"It is never too late to learn a thing or two -- and I would surely enjoy your company as well. Perhaps you could even teach me one of you songs..." she continued to gently fiddle with the paw she took in her hands, eyeing it while a pleasant warmth passed over her. Her words held a genuine hope to them -- as the dame truly did enjoy his company. His presence was stark, bright, one demanding to be seen -- who was she to ignore such a pull?

Another dash of rose providing warmth to Cyne's cheeks -- his next choice of words caused her to glance up and gaze with an unreadable emotion. A part of her wanted to give into his sugary voice and enjoy the moment, but Cynefrid (figuratively) slapped herself back to reality to realize the truth.

She was not the only one he talked this way with, therefore, she was not special....

Cynefrid looked back down to avoid his gaze. A part of her feared the vulnerability that would come if she dared to stare any longer. A minute of silence followed, then, her wine gaze would meet his again -- a warm smile offered and the slightest look of sadness in her eyes.

"You are a funny one, Ravinger..." was all she could muster quitely....

As she seemingly accepted his offer, his tail wagged.  He craved her attention as well as her approval.  Sure, he sought out both from any wolf who would give him the time of day; yet with Cynefrid, it was pointedly different.  Her thoughts and feelings actually mattered to him.  Ravinger couldn't care less what any random wolf off the beaten path thought of him (even if he would prefer only positive thoughts of him, thank you).  But, Cynefrid?  He would be genuinely hurt if she ever spoke ill of him.

Such was why, when he thought he glimpsed a bit of sadness in her pretty eyes, he became puzzled.  He wasn't the world's smartest wolf (believe it, or not), even if he would tell others differently.  However, he did, in fact, have a working pair of eyes.  Something bothered her, and he thought he would soothe her angst the only way he knew how:

"In days that have long since passed / There lived a beautiful mahogany lass. / An unmarried and virtuous princess, alas, / She was brave, strong, and bold," as he sang the tune, he coiled around her, brushing his flank to hers as he started to sway from paw to paw. "Tra la di di hidey ho / Di hidey hey, di hidey ho / Tra la di di hidey ho / Happily ever after!" his eyes seemed to say, 'dance with me!' as he leaned forward to bump the crown of his head into her shoulder.