Hideaway Strath in your crypt

Kynareth’s mind wanders much too often these days and at this point he’s mindless and practically dead inside yet so excited for all that is to come. So many plans but no one to tell, so frustrating. Yet this night, they’ve made it to the valley enclosed by powerful mountains. This is their new home, this is perfect. Almost as perfect as his dearest canyon of red.

Though he vaguely follows Hemlocke and Nyra he veers off the set path, only by a couple meters and hears a low chuff meet his ears. For a moment he assumes it’s another pack member attempting to get his attention, though it seems only half of his assumption is right. It is a stranger; female type with all sorts of grays and whites, a pretty face too. That always catches his attention. Though she does not smell as if she is alone, the longer scent of a pack on her ashen pelt much too obvious to ignore — a neighboring pack then.

He offers a chuff back as he trots over, slowing to a languid walk over to the others. “Evening, dear.” Kynareth greets as his extravagant self comes to reveal his presence to the other if she had not seen him before. He piggybacks off of what his Blade says. “Yes, we’re the Saints of the Dying Light. We are claiming this area and the surrounding territories as our own if that is convenient for you and your brethren. I am one of two alphas in this pack, I would be more than willing to make our presence officially known and have a nice little meet and greet. We’ll be neighbors after all.” He hums easily, more casual-friendly if anything. A charming smile on his handsome face, golden orbs taking over the soft plains of her face.