Two Rivers Isle he jests at scars that never felt a wound

His teeth flashed as he grinned against the rib bone. "I'll keep that in mind."

There was a time he would have been disappointed that she was spoken for. There was a time he would have stubbornly met the challenge of courting her despite it, having seen in her many of the things he hungered for. Once, he had ambition, and a steadfast idea at where he wanted to end up. He had made it there too, to that tall peak in his mind's eye, and then had seen the ruin that waited on the other side. The fall that followed the rise.

Now, not even the swell of his cock in his sheath — aroused by her seasonal state — could spur him to chase game which required a marthon rather than a sprint; and that was all he had time and desire for now. He hunted for efficient satiation, as instant and effortless as it could be had. He took what was there to be taken in the moment — food and fucks alike — and no longer concerned himself with what once was and what may or may never be.

"There anything you can tell me about these lands?" The rib bone cracked again, splitting into two halves. The half he still gripped in his broad paws was jagged-edged on one end. He turned it, and continued to work his teeth against the smoother portion.