Ravensblood Forest Welcome To My Crib

There is a clear promise of a threat in Donovan's voice, and Colin is vaguely thankful that he isn't in the crosshairs of it. Something about the man-- his stature, his appearance, his willingness to reach out for a goal and to grasp at it with white knuckles-- suggested that it was a terrible idea to cross him. 

He watches him move, sinuous, and he thinks about wolves, dogs, and apex predators. Their savagery was also his own. Whatever disconnect he felt couldn't free him from his biology.

"I've never seen a real desert before," he says, but something else has already captured Donovan's attention. He squints into the dark and raises an ear. More quietly, he murmurs, "No. But I'll still help with this. For your pack, maybe." 

He crouches, attentive. The artefacts of a thousand years of hunting and killing prey sweep through him. He's a live wire.