Neverwinter Forest Water from your broken iris fell toward the floor

Kynareth’s like a statue beside her, sturdy and unmoving as he watches her confront her demons. He leans closer to her, hoping to ground her with his presence. To remind Simmik of her unwavering strength. Yet, all in the same motion he’s watching a dark form approach. It’s definitely not Mal and when he recognizes this woman as the one he’d met with Simmik so long ago he almost wants to laugh.

It takes everything within his being not to say some dumb shit when her cutting words are directed with malice towards Simmik. A quick thought of Don’t talk to my fucking wife like that. flits through his mind with a dark glare in his gaze. 

Still, the thought doesn’t cease when the man of the hour finally arrives. The Grandmaster’s head raises casually as his mottled grey form nears. Sidling closer to himself rather than Simmik, it makes his spine prickle with irritation. The feeling only increases when he’s spitting out his next words. 

Don’t do it. Kynareth tells himself. Making sure he’s keeping his maw nice and shut for Simmik. He wants so bad to snap back with his usual caustic wit, but alas he cannot. Not unless he wants to fuck it all up for her.

Unable to help the way his brow line twitches when he interrupts her with a booming voice. How childish. Kynareth hums internally. Not moving from his place beside his love even at the alpha’s threatening words. He would’ve barked out a harsh laugh if he was allowed. Instead, hawkish eyes move watch Mal with an easy, unimpressed, but casual expression. Careful not to put too much confidence or attitude in his stance or he might find himself offending the forest dwelling alpha.