Hideaway Strath lust

Kynareth’s grin never escapes his wretched face. Always seeming to make it home there, stretching dark lips with malice and pride all at once. He’s a devious being, but also an understanding one. A merciless warlord, but one that has been known to occasionally spare. 

Ramesses speaks to him of his gods, mentions Yuèlóng and what could’ve been the death of their leader — their pack. Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes, he would’ve ripped her throat out just for fun. Just to see everyone’s reactions, just to traumatize her children or lovers. Same with Aiolos too; all of them. But he didn’t and he can’t yet, probably won’t if he’s being completely honest.

So he laughs. A rolling bout of boisterous laughter gala from his lips. “I don’t question it either, darling.” He hums back to him. “All I know, is that I would’ve killed them all in cold blood just for shits and gigs.” He chuckles. “All of them.” He emphasizes tersely, deeply, seriously, before his smile reappears. 

He calms himself and shrugs once more. “That’s how the old Saints used to operate. We’d raid, kill, and take. Then start all over again on another poor pack.” A flick of his eyes to Ramesses. “War is what we lived for.”