Stavanger Bay maybe they'll keep this snarling heart contained

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Ravus was still as the woman approached him, well accustomed by now to being inspected. His posture was tight, solid and still. Leonis had enjoyed making him sure the commander of the hunt had “correct posture” that ranged from dominance to those placed under his little and very short leased command to utter submission before his superiors for Ravus was a solider first and foremost and that was all that he would ever be. Cor's throne would never be his, despite that the same blood ran through his blood and thus he had the best he could have ever hoped for in Aeterna Glaive: Commander of the Hunt. Though he considered himself still the Glaive's commander of the hunt he had forsaken the only title he'd ever had besides bastard and understood he was just another vagabond to these wolves.

“My fishing skills are humbling, ma'am,” Ravus reported, ready to bare his humility to them. It would do no good to lie, after all for they would figure it out easily enough. Ravus was likely to fail more than he would succeed at fishing. “Tracking and ungulates are my specialties but I am not unwilling to improve my fishing skill.” He was quick to offer an addendum to his initial words, offering them in the same breath. “Hunting was always my primary focus but I patrolled the borders of my natal pack, as well.” He could defend them just as good as any other though he much preferred the illusion of freedom hunting allowed him even if it was for a few hours while he whittled away time tracking herds. “I am called Ravus.” Whether it was the name his mother had intended for him, or if she'd cared either way, he would never know. It was Cor that had named him (likely at no small amount of begging on Stella's behalf) and accordingly was the only name he'd ever known.

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