Stone Circle maybe it wasn't our fault

cyron's tongue draws across the bottom of her chin once, quickly, before he shuffles back to where he'd been standing before. he isn't one for having personal space breached — understandably — and he would never presume to linger long in someone else's personal space. "n- no," he says, ears splaying back against the curve of his skull. "thank you for uhm, listening to me." it seemed like a socially acceptable thing to do: to thank her. she was good and cyron was able to immediately recognize this about her. he takes her in, slowly raising his dull chestnut gaze to study her for a moment, wondering if he's actually ever seen valette before — suffice to say he remembered very little of his time before his fight with rowana and his kidnapping; his time in blackfeather woods and all the things they'd done to him had unfortunately taken precedence over old, happy memories. she's pretty, he decides with a rush of warmth to the skin beneath the fur of his cheeks and his diverts his eyes quickly. "i'm — i s-should get back." back to what? his patrol? his parents? did it matter? anywhere that wasn't here at this point. he turns abruptly, takes a deep breath and departs, unintentionally heading back to the borders, needing space to think and categorize the events of the morning.