Dragoncrest Cliffs every demon wants his pound of flesh,

With a subdued silence about himself (one inspired by the weight of all his sorrows lately) he watched as she rose, and he toyed with the idea that maybe he was interrupting something more private and peaceful than he realized at first glance. However she did greet him with a name, and he would return that with a soft nod as he matched her to the calling, from appearances to scent. I'm Dio, he said, referencing his own self then clearly with a gesture to say so. If I'm interrupting anything, tell me. he said, attempting to force his stony features to soften. He meant well enough.

Yet his ears answered with a subtle splay, because of course, he did not know her face either—and hers, from how stark white her coat shone, to the marks on her features, was not one easily forgotten. Maybe he had noted her scent in passing. or maybe she had met Dacio and Opalia, but never had he felt compelled to seek her out before here and now.

I've been keeping busy, he said, a distant look in his eyes. Busy mourning, busy defending. Or maybe I should say.. distracted.. he rumbled softly. For the time, he would not unpack why. Not on a stranger, and definitely not unprompted, even if it seemed to make up his every breath how badly he ailed for the lost loved ones, each worse than the last. So it is probably well overdue that we meet, he said. He had frankly not made great effort to mingle.. especially lately. If it was not business that drove his motives, little else had. How has Drageda been for you? he inquired, opting to start there. She had come among the Drageda wolves at a strange time for him thanks to everything that had gone on, and consequentially, gone wrong. While the pack balanced, grew, strengthened.. he knew they were all better for it in the big picture; it was just that his was vastly different these days.