Alpine Lake sans

This takes place at ALPINE LAKE. I did not realize Saints had moved -- whoops!

After some contemplation, he had picked his way down the mountains, finding winding paths into the canyon, feeling the shadows overwhelm him. He falls into darkness, some madness; having not eaten or slept much and drank only trickles from the mountain streams he is.......

Sans. Simply without.

And he finds the canyon completely empty. The wolves that were here have gone.

He craves company; the seer's presence had brought alight a flame within him but it's since flickered out. He needs more, he needs more, he needs flesh and bone, hearts, souls—

Friends. Or enemies. Whatever. Either works. He is hungry. And so he travels.

After a few days of restless loping, following the trail, Donatien stumbles toward a place so laden with scents he's instantly drunk upon it, and stops, sucking in the air. Here, here are strong wolves, and whatever he lacks in strength he makes up for in cunning. He knows it; he knows he can be of use to them and them to him and....! Oh! The possibilities!

His baritone howl, so dark and deep and alien from his bony chest — it sounds over the lake, bouncing off the water, within the waves and the shore—

Take me! I am yours!

The Saints are currently going to a different territory, so for the benefit of your joining I'm gonna assume this is backdated to before if not around the time the Saints have left the Canyon :> 

The first to his call is a massive titan in the form of a snowy woman. Nyra gingerly trots toward the male at a quick pace, still littered in wounds still healing. Her fiery golden eyes meet his form as she comes to a stop before him.
"I am Nyra. This place is currently inhabited by the Saints, a pack to which I belong. What are your intentions upon coming here?" 

Kynareth’s ears swivel atop his crown as a howl echoes off the rocky crimson of the canyon walls. Golden orbs dancing along the horizon he is quick to meet their company. Moving into a steady gallop, the Grandmaster makes his way towards the beckon of a stranger.

Upon arrival, Nyra comes into view first. The blade already in conversation with her. Slowing to a languid walk, he pads over to the two a casually interested smile planted on his handsome face. “Oh, we have company.” He hums uselessly as he takes in the stranger before him. Awaiting the male to answer Nyra’s questions. Meeting those vibrant purple hues that instantly remind him of Astara’s for no particular reason.

So focused has he been on his restless trailing of these wolves that he's forgotten to breathe. He only realizes it when a woman appears—gorgeous, hurting, just his type—that he looses a gusty exhale, ribs shuddering with the sound. He fixes his gaze on her striking hawkish eyes, and allows the vulpine grin to return to his face.

Oh, I come in need of friends, cherie, Donatien responds. Of allies, of comrades. Do you think your ranks have a place for me?

Before she can answer, or he can blather on further, a monstrous man appears. He's large as the sun (or so it seems) and carries himself with all that weight; striped and regal and massive— The du Pont finds himself bending a slight knee to this king, all while his mouth forms his usual glib retort.

You do, indeed. And I suppose you are the master of this place, of these wolves?

The woman is not forgotten.....well, no. That's wrong. She is forgotten, eclipsed by the other.

But she is not to blame. Who could be? 

He is immense.

Nyra quirked the ghost of a smile at the stranger's words, turning her head some as Donovan approached. 

"He is one of the masters of the Saints. The other is Derg, who is with the others." The equally immense woman responded, turning her amber-inferno hues to the lake, then to her Grandmaster - leaving it to him to decide what to tell this newcomer, as she should.

Kynareth stands tall, yet casual. Not overbearing his rank and authority onto the other. He doesn’t like to flex too much unless he truly has to. Or sometimes he does it to be flashy, but that’s not the point. Yet when this ashen makes speaks, Donovan’s thick auds press forward. His voice is one he’s not quite heard before. Hell, it almost has him side eyeing the male in a more unprofessional type of way. He doesn’t hide his interest either. As soon as the first few words come out he’s smirking and eyeing the other down not as suggestive as one might think, yet it’s still obvious enough to tell. 

The Grandmaster steps forth and finally answers back to the owner of that luscious, surly voice. “I am.” He hums easily. “We could use the numbers. You’re no spy are you?” He asks with a lightly warning tone to his voice. Though he supposes that if he was he’d never tell him. “‘Cause I’ll be watching you very closely until you’ve proven yourself that we can trust you. I hope you understand my concerns, dear.” His reply isn’t rough, or deathly. Only informative with that warning in those starlike hues that chase the others almost eagerly.

He feels like an absolute insect beneath these giants, and he loves it. Sometimes it pays to play the subordinate. He gives the woman a submissive nod of understanding and then turns to the man, the corners of his lips curling wickedly (a la Grinch). 

Non, Donatien responds casually. I don't have ze tongue for it. Nor ze. . .desire. What good is spying when pleasure can be found elsewhere? Should he find himself caught within a conflict, he's more like to plunder and pillage in the moment, not assist with the planning beforehand.

But then—if he were convinced— non. It matters not.

Instead, he looks between the two of them, nodding slowly. Watch me as close as you like, mes amis, he promises. Lashes feather downward, flutter upward, fanning like palms, like a bashful maiden. I do not wilt under scrutiny. 

Basks in it, more like. He waits for their verdict.

Nyra listens, nods some as the stranger responds to her alpha. 

With a soft exhale, she looks to her Lord "I don't see why not. Let him join our ranks, we desire numbers anyway, yes?" Nyra keeps her amber inferno eyes on the Grandmaster, a soundless confirmation, should he look at her, that she would kill their potential recruit if it was deemed necessary.

Kynareth’s pleases by his words, as well as Nyra’s. She’s done both good and bad for the Saints, but thankfully it’s beginning to outweigh the bad. He nods nice to the snowy she wolf and looks towards Donatien. “Then welcome to the hunt my friend. We’re glad to have you.” He smirks to him. “We will have to go on an honorary hunt for your joining.” Comes his borderline enthusiastic reply. He loves a good hunt. “It’s a good way to see your skill, yes?” 

The Grandmaster spins in his spot turning from then. “Come we will show you the place and speak of our most recent news.” He expects the other to follow wordlessly beside him, giving a quick glance to nyra as well — an invitation to tag along as well.

I was thinking y’all or at least Donatien can post once more and we can fade it and assume don told him shit and he showed him the canyon? Lol

It seems he's made at least a decent case for himself; the two of them seem inclined to let him within their ranks. Donatien gives a nod to the two giants in turn, tail still low but wagging with pleasure. He is excited to know them more, to be invited further into the fold.

What sort of creed do they follow? It remains to be seen. But they seem fearsome. He will learn from them.

That sounds wonderful, Donatien responded, following along with wherever his new comrades take him. We will hunt, and God willing, dine. 

last from me!

Everything settled, the Shieldmaiden turned to fall at Donovan's flank. She would indeed join the hunt. 

With a final glance to Donatien, Nyra continued forward at a trot.

last from me too!