Totoka River A better Opportunity

The canary of his irises never leave the other and a low huff of breath is released from his nose at the comment of humans. “That’s all I’ve heard as well.” He shrugs then, he’s indifferent to it now. Doesn’t care as much while also still caring too much.

Anyhow he appreciates the luck and the abbreviation of his name has him raising a brow curiously. He’s interested by this mysterious stranger. It seems that he’s interested in Donovan as well, for he questions him of his pack, of his new home. Who is Donovan to deny such a request?

“My pack, it’s called the Saints of the Dying Light.” He informs. “We’re prideful, savage when we have to be. Perhaps even sometimes when we don’t have to be as well.” With that sentence he gives a snake like smile and a shrug. “We never stop training, no matter how skilled we become. A pack of warriors, a team loyal to one another in the blood of others.” His words hold an overwhelming sense of pride for his own. A promise to thrive in the new lands of the Teekon Wilds. Then his voice lowers to a casual tone. “It’s just the four of us right now, including myself. Small numbers are risky, especially being around these neighboring packs.”