Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

His eyes continue to watch the coy’s face as he speaks of his pack — Ursus. An interesting name; he vaguely wonders what it means or at least wants to know the origin of the title. He’s the leader too then. He’s impressed and his interested gaze shows it. Donovan maintains eye contact with the smaller the entirety of the moment. His brows perk up briefly at the mention of him being the leader and his smile remains as he nods.

The smile the male sends up to him has him furrowing his brows slightly with something other than irritation or anger. Rather, it’s Merrick turning into Donovan’s devilish curiosity. So to hearing the name Donovan hums in approval and a single word comes from his lips. “Cute.”

The word is more teasing than anything, yet truthful to some extent. Rather it’s meant to jest at Merrick’s rather viscous appearance that wouldn’t resemble anything cute at all. No. Donovan doesn’t want cute. He wants someone fucking deadly, straightforward. Merrick seems to be the type of guy. His sleek yet deadly form attracts him. Not to mention the plethora of scars that riddle his frame. Telling many stories that surely start and end with violence. 

At that, Donovan continues. “I am rebuilding my own fallen pack.” He says simply then. “In a forest where the trees bleed and are tall enough to touch the sun. Tell me, what’s your pack like?” His eyes twinkle with a mysterious curiosity. “Perhaps I wouldn’t be to opposed to an alliance. As long as our views are aligned.”