King Elk Forest Try as she might, not a drop will she get

"Ooh-ooh, good King Célnes once faced the mighty horde / bore their teeth at the High Elk's crown / and to them her antlers gored / their bowels, unleashed upon the ground - a vicious sight to see / the King forsook the heretics / and to the High Elk took her knee." 

His voice doesn't boom as it normally would, but it does carry. Ravinger sings clearly, the sound echoing somewhat eerily through the woodland. The naked trees provide little cover, which makes spotting his cousin easier.  With the gait of a jaunty pup, he approaches one of his kings, tail left still at his backside. He respects her enough not to show any signs of dominance, after all.

"Room for one more, my dearest King?" his tone suggests he finds the rank funny. Sure, Célnes has been groomed for the role for as long as he can remember, but that doesn't make it any less humorous. In public he may address her more seriously, but in private, what's the use? They're just two wolves of the same bloodline. Kings and bards all shit the same. So, he doesn't wait for her answer. He joins her and sprawls out on his back, legs up in the air. "Hope this place isn't this ugly all the time. Autumn and winter are such boring seasons. Don't you think?"