Hushed Willows Drifter

Taikon watched the crimson-eyed boy, feeling his amiable nature through the wag of a dark tail and answering subconsciously with a slow wag of his own white tail. The tactic worked, especially as the boy relayed what he knew about the latest encounters with the Saints. Although his speech felt poor and stupid to the prince, he knew that this was no fault of the yearling. Clearly there was something wrong with the boy, for why else would he be accompanied by a bird that clung to him so fiercely?
The Court had also been the victim of flooding, but had been lucky enough apparently to have plenty of territory not surrounded by river that no evacuation was necessary. This pleased him, but part of Taikon felt angry. It was directed at nothing. He was angry because Artyom had moved his family far, leaving Taikon and the rest to wither in the aftermath. He knew not that the Deorwine had plans of their own to collect the scraps of Whitebark. He softened toward the boy, hearing of his pack's recent hardships. He was glad at least to hear that the Saints had not had a significant impact of late.
Then, the boy did something the prince did not expect. The invitation was swift, and true, and Taikon felt strange. Awkwardly, he pushed his chin toward his shoulder as though confused. The faerie queen would allow him to stay. There were many feelings that went through him. The first was a vague happiness that he might not have to be alone again. The second, and more overpowering, was his lack of trust toward this dorky boy and his bird and what he thought the female leader would feel toward him.
He sighed as a most overwhelming feeling of certainty came to him that the faeries were not his path. He knew little of their culture or beliefs, but knew that he would never be able to accept whatever shitty magical hullabaloo they were into. Indeed, how could he of fine breeding submit to a woman who claimed herself to be a faerie? Preposterous.
Still, he felt charmed, oddly. That is very kind of you, to say this, he said, dipping his head in that regal way that had become his signature. I do not think I am the right fit for the Court, though I wish you only the best of times and better weather ahead. I.. he cut himself off, and realized something. What is your name, boy? He didn't mean it to come out accusatory or harsh, but it did sound as though he had caught a youngster in his cabbage patch and had asked the question while lifting him by the scruff.