Shadewood you are at war, even in your dreams

The sound of approach does not go unnoticed by the kinglet’s ears, that which swivel to determine the precise location of the nearing sound but he does not move. Instead, he continues to lap at the water until it pools cool in his stomach and he has taken his fill. When he does finish, head remains lowered, hovering just above the rippling surface of the water he casts a look out the corner of his eye and imperial jade gaze touches upon the canine that has joined him, the sound of her drinking following in the wake of his as he finished. Salmon pink tongue darts across his muzzle and tufted chin to collect the droplets that dribble freely and slowly the macedon’s head rises and he turns imperial gaze to the other in full. Her scent is free of the heavy claimant of pack, and the sweetly perfume she carries upon her light pelage tells him that she is, indeed, a woman.

For a moment he contemplates acting as if he has not seen her — likely an action to take affront of for she has, no doubt, noticed him already — and he wonders if she leaves it up to him to make first contact, to breach the silence that lingers between them. Does he have anything to say to her? Not truly. They are two strangers sharing a watering hole, seeking to sate their thirst. Her form is lithe and he notices a smudge of umbra upon her muzzle. She appears young but he knows first hand that looks can be awfully deceiving.

A split second later he lets out a low chuff to announce his presence to her, gravitated to act by societal obligations that have long since been imbedded into him. Nero does not know why but he does nevertheless.