Shadewood Trouble the water

What told him so much was how soon the Corra spoke. It bled over his ears a rain of information to which he had to backtrack the situation in order to process. Taking a mental step back, he brought his orbs back to Amaya, surprised she trusted this woman with her actual name as opposed to an alias. But he assumed she was capable of putting her life in her own hands. Should she choose to leave loose ends, it would be on her own head. Literally. 

A pleased smile and a generous dip of his dark crown gave gratitude to Amaya, as for after all, she knew the Keep needed members just as much as it needed information. He truly wanted to wean off the mission, as he had no worthy soldiers to versus the Melonii, who ironically enough were in miserable shape as they were, but Amaya was capable. And he would have to give her lead on it. “I appreciate this, Amaya. There is fresh food in the Keep for you; it’s close to the southwest edge of the Lagoon. Indulge your hard work, and take as much rest as you feel.” He gave her an opportunity to depart, should she want to rest her fours from the travel and work she had gotten accomplished so far. When she was ready to talk, she would. However, if she rather stay and watch him with this new woman, he wouldn’t object. 

Bringing his attention back to Corra, a gentle smile courted his maw as he regarded her testimony. “The pleasure is mine, though the honor is not needed. I am merely a overseer more than anything. A guardian to the flock whom needs it. If you choose to offer your body here at the Keep, then you too shall have my protection.” Though he usually was a man of few words, most newer individuals did not know whether to cower or pester under such a persona, so he would speak more than what he was personally used to.

”She holds a high regard of me, I see. And it only makes her a better Keep member. I am in need of a particular set of skills, less brutely brawn and more...mental. The Keep Watcher needs a Consigliere, an Advisor, who doubles as an Ambassador for this home of ours. It is a very strict trade, and only the most dedicated can hold such a title.” He felt a familiar brush of claws grapple the back of his ruff, hooked talons gripping his nape. The Zone Tailed Falcon has returned to him, and it held a rodent in its sharply hooked beak. Almost as if on cue for a present for the maiden who spoke so clearly and factually. 

“A welcoming gift for you,” he angled himself downwards and presented the hawk, who in turn rose his wings in protest and flapped twice before dropping what looked like a fattened squirrel at Corra’s paws.  Of course the hawk hadn’t brought it for her, but Cry used the opportunity for gesture, atleast. The hawk, irritated that he had caught a meal for his master, only for it to be given to a stranger, dug his claws further into the scruff before pushing back off into the skies and seeking another kill.