Mount Everfall we have a city to burn

tvarog continues on in his leisurely exploration; slowly beginning to realize that he's being shadowed by the tell-tale footfalls, far too heavy to belong to any prey critter. the voice that drifts, heavily accented with an elegance that fails his own, usually expletive words, connects the gnawing suspicion to reality and he turns to face her: an lithesome phantom, glancing over her shoulder like a starlet of olde. a soft snort leaves tvarog at her commentary that she hasn't seen 'his like' before. a compliment? or the fact that he was new to this region? well, he drawls. there's no one quite like me, darlin'.

the slavic shadow grins, jack'o'lantern gaze admiring her.

do i look like the type to fuckin' hide? the swear words are used favorably as 'sentence enhancers'; but his words were true enough. he was brazen and 'in your face' by nature. i'm new to these lands. evidenced enough by the lack of any scents upon his pelage besides his own, the scents of his family long since faded.