Otter Creek Hiding from the sunshine,

Donovan tilts his head, auds pressed forward to hear the soft velvety voice. His smile persists and he takes it upon himself to take a few cautious steps into the stream. At the deepest it goes up to his elbow and he’s crossing the water barrier between them in no time. Though he isn’t rushed, his pace is languid and unhurried. When he reaches her spot by the bank he doesn’t even get out of the water, content to feel the cool liquid hug  his forearms. It cools him down exceptionally fast, though it doesn’t quell the heat within his dark pelt to slip his tongue back into his maw. 

So he stands there, canary orbs forever on her own wine colored hues. Which seem rare enough to the point that he’s amazed by them.

“Where do you reign from Dragoon? And where do you see your travels taking you?” He asks in a casual tone.