Hideaway Strath Machinery

Kynareth’s next in line. The brindled brute trots with strides of purpose at the sound of another towards the Gates of both Heaven and Hell. Heaven for the Saints, Hell for poor little outsiders. Unless willingly accepted into the pack of hellhounds, one would find themselves ripped to pieces and added to their welcome committee — the bear, coyotes, and wolf skeletons.

As he approaches, he finds Nyra. Always dutifully answering a call even with her pup. He’s impressed, but he can’t say he’s surprised, he’s always impressed by her. Either way, his trot slows and his curled tail bobs at his hips as he’s strides confidently over to the pair. 

The wolf that greets his eyes is oh so interesting. Made of bloody reds, midnight black, and enchanting whites, shes unlike many wolves he’s seen before. Instantly, he can tell shes battle warn. The scars and overall look of her. He likes that. A smirk comes to his lips, it contorts his face handsomely as he comes to settle beside his Overseer.

“Welcome stranger. Kynareth Deagon, Grandmaster of the Saints.” He introduces evenly, deep tone rumbling from his lips. “Need somethin’?” He hums in question with a sly tilt of his head.