Lone Star Mountain cloud giant

"vonn," the warhound clucked, tipping his own chin downwards in a stiff motion, and giving the wounded solicitor an adamant wag of his tail. he seemed flattered at the implication, and perhaps not entirely put off by it. if anything, stigmata seemed amused by it all - as much as jagged iron could appear so. "i have no use for playthings," he disclosed flatly, unwilling to accept any sort of one-offs from a wolf who had taken more than that from the mouths of his wolves.

he padded forward in his standard slink - slow, calculating, and undaunted - creeping to the male's broad shoulder, where he aimed to place a firm, covetous nibble. "the flesh you owe me, dear vonn, must stay. nourish us, if you will. and if this flesh is not loyal, or otherwise does not fill our bellies, then we do not need it." since he had been misunderstood before, he sought to correct that now, then with a stern and coiling hiss, he added: "and between the two of us, it is not me who will be the one to remain deprived should you leave."