Ravensblood Forest i hear it beckoning

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Declan waits for the leadership, rolling his amber set aflame eyes at his brother as he hears the dramatic sigh spill from betwixt Conan’s lips. The feral’s ear closest to his brother twitches as his brother resumes his grooming. Declan sneaks a sly glance at Conan, his eyes admiring. Declan knows that his brother does not preen for him and as it is if anyone were to ever ask his opinion he rather enjoyed seeing his brother down and dirty pinned beneath him as they wrestle… his thoughts are snapped away from those thoughts the second the woman appears from the shadows of the bleeding sequoias and Declan finds himself annoyed though it vanishes as quickly as it crept upon him. Conan is clearly the more well kept of the two. Declan’s fur is windswept and coarse and salt crusted from the water bath he’d taken from the nearby shore: a small tufts of fur standing up every which way upon his white tipped cape. He isn’t seeking to impress any women, admittedly. He does not understand Conan’s desire because Declan does not feel it stir his loins until a woman is in heat because that is when they are fertile and even then it is only an attraction of hormones and little else.

Her apology is met with a soft grunt from the feral Cathán because he is not bothered by the blood that adorns her. Her moonbeam gaze seeks him and his gaze is level as she addresses him. She has caught his scent at the borders, which is not overly surprising to him. He made no moves to hide his presence upon them. As he took all the information that their borders had to offer him he left information behind as well: in preparation for their arrival. He left behind his interest for them to find and decipher as they saw fit. “Arturo Fearghal.” He speaks in his deep, guttural voice. It is not the answer she seeks but it is all she will get from the feral Commander. Declan's gaze then slides to Conan, expecting him to do what he did best: converse.

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