Nimbus Summit head in the clouds

completely unaware of any discomfort he's caused this stranger, he looks rather pleased to have found an unwitting audience.  a charming smile flings itself onto his features with the speed of a slingshot, and suddenly he's cocking his head in that haughty way he does.  whoever this wolf is, they're young; that much he knows.  he can't very well, in good conscience, leave them up here by themselves.  yearlings are so cheeky! they may put themselves in harm's way.

"yes, that would be me," he offers a mock bow, laying heavy on theatrics. "i am bard by trade.  i compose and sing songs.  i suppose that's what you mean by 'different,'" his tone is nonjudgmental; despite his ego, he's never been one to ridicule others, particularly youths. "i was singing.  have you ever tried it?" at this question, he tries to leap onto higher ground.  it's clumsy at best, and he doesn't look 'cool' doing it.  that doesn't stop him from faking it, though.  as soon as he lands, he strikes a pose as if he'd meant to do whatever he just did all along.

"i'm ravinger, by the way -- grandson of a king, but who's asking?" insert winning smile here.