Ravensblood Forest I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

perhaps the tales of bleeding trees would have been enough to scare some cubs from wandering where they were not supposed to but that wouldn't have been enough to scare him. which as evidenced enough by his past, by where he was today. his path would've been so different if he'd only curbed his curiosity, if he'd only waited for arturo, hemlock or lotte. he made a mental note that if he ever had children to instill some sort of otherwordly fear of the world outside of the pack into them so that he did not have to ever face what he put his own parents ( and siblings ) through ...even though he deserved it for all the pain he'd caused them.

her words, accompanied by her nervous chuckle and the aversion of her eyes take a bit to sink into wintersbane's own mind. he'd mentioned his looks off-handedly, in a flippant manner of the vain beast that he is. his mother was a gorgeous and ethereal woman and as he takes after her as a masculine look-alike; he's aware that he's attractive. yet, the delta of the dark woods never knows how to take a compliment on his looks when it's genuinely given to him. should he be humble? arrogant? flattered? sarcastic? continue to play along or thank her for the compliment?

"mhm," he breathes, deciding that in the wake of her obvious embarrassment he'll keep playing along and not draw too much attention to her compliment despite that, in the end, he is flattered. he enjoys the stroke of his ego. "but you know what they say; the most beautiful flowers have the sharpest thorns." or...something like that.