Barrow Fields and drawing lines around my body to recall my place

At Renard first sentence about the trees that drip blood Donovan chuckles quietly. Making a mental note to inform the other that it’s more of a colorful explanation of its reality: ruby hued sap. Yet, they don’t seem to be too interested as they continue and at their next words spoken Donovan hums and nods in agreement. If he had a chance he would’ve killed her and his first litter of pups. Everyone else could get fucked, he would’ve done it whether others stood up for her or not. Killed everyone of them too if he needed.

Anyway, as Renard shakes Donovan out of his stupor of irritation, he listens to them talk once more. This time Donovan shrugs. “I don’t like to share usually. It just pisses me off.” He says nonchalantly with only a touch of anger this time. 

The brindled male watches the other crane their head to rip off a strip of deer meat and begins gnawing at it. At their mention of making friends by sharing pasts or sparing Donovan could agree. Yet, he doesn’t find himself having too many of those these days. Hell, even back then. Sure he was a charismatic leader, but he lead with a firm hand to his warriors and a steel one regarding other packs. Other packs even sent pups or young adults to be trained by them. They were always successful and he would only do this for their allies.

At that, he seems pensive for only a moment and then allows his maw to stretch into a devious smirk, molding his handsome face around it. “I suppose you’re not wrong, Renard. I would definitely be wanting a spar from you one day.” He almost yells charismatically, voice gruff and loose.