Ravensblood Forest Trees of Crimson

He smirks as she follows his movements like her life depends on it because–who knows–maybe it does. As he veered right, she faced her chest left, still pointed directly at him. Any good warrior would never let one they didn’t trust behind them of course, so why does he turn his back on her then? The answer would be: sheer, back breaking, confidence in his ability to defend himself. He’s been through the wringer, he knows how to handle things. After all, they’re just having a nice, calm, little chat, no?

Fond of dramatics, Donovan turns to face the female once again, only this time he comes a bit closer. Perhaps a little too clause for the female. If she doesn’t move away, they’d be just about four feet apart. He leans his head in, leathery nose sniffing, taking in her scent. Yes, she is a pack wolf it seems.

Backing up to a comfortable distance again, he turns his back on her one more. Giving his curled tails a wave and his body a quick shake. “I hate to say, but I too used to be a pack wolf. Except my whole pack got slaughtered in cold blood.” He growls towards the end. With his back turned towards her, he glances back, only half his face showing. “Funny how that happens, huh?” He says ruefully, brows cocked. 

Then he shrugs and absentmindedly wanders to a tree, brushing himself against it like a cat. Head tipped up he’s side eyes her with hooded eyes and an easygoing smirk. “I’m trying to rebuild my pack.” Is his simple reply to her question of him marking the territory.