King Elk Forest I could even learn how to love

Ravinger feigns shock when Cynefrid calls down to him.  He glances up, allowing his face to go through a range of emotions starting with surprise and ending with delight.   Never mind that he has set up this moment entirely.  Cynefrid need not know that. "Sweet Cynefrid, it is always good to see you," he responds in dulcet tones, his tenor seeming to almost drop a register as he attempts to sweep the other wolf off her paws.  Walking nearer to the Falls themselves, he puts his paws on the stone that separates them in height and bulk and stands on his hind legs.

"Shall I sing you down to me, O maiden fair?" his eyebrows give a little wiggle. "We have much to catch up on, and I would love to steal you away for a time if you aren't too busy." Ravinger has never been a subtle wolf.  He speaks his mind without hindrance, often to his detriment.  Now is no different.  It isn't exactly a secret that he fancies Cynefrid in a way that's beyond mere flirtation.  She's gentle, and there's something about her that suggests she's delicate.  It's for this reason that he practices some restraint around her.  For anyone else, he'd merely laugh, but for Cynefrid?  He'd move a star or two.

"So began her descent / from star-throned chariot ride / to grace a mortal man's heart / 'pon this dull eveningtide," he croons up at her unbashedly, a fool's grin on his maw.