The Sunspire I cried "dear god, I am your child -- send your angels down."

The dark male with indifferent, yellow, crocodilian eyes doesn’t meet his own. Donovan is unsure why, for he continuously searches for eye contact. Unsure if it’s due to his easily dominant nature or something else — he just has to. 

Still the other speaks. Donovan is yearning for his forgiveness; doesn’t care how he gets it. Just knows that he wants it and values Riley as a pack mate. Hell he’d take a life for the grumpy, lizard wolf. 

Still Donovan tilts his head contemplatively. “That’s how I’ve been taught, dear. Lie when you must. It benefited all of us in the long run. It protected us. They almost killed you and Dove and I were next on the hit list.” He sighs and steps closer. “It was only to protect us. You gotta learn how to play the game when you have to.” He repeats. 

The game Donovan describes is an important one. One of manipulation and lies. It must be done. Right now, Donovan doesn’t play said game. He’s nothing but honest with the darker male. So he closes in on him bravely, close enough to touch. Bowing his head down, if Riley allows it, Donovan risks a touch of his wet, leathery nose to the males cheek. If he snaps at him so be it, but Donovan tries anyway. A silent gesture of forgiveness. The brindle man extending the olive branch. 

Forgive me.