Emberwood oxytocin

He’s instantly greeted with a venomous fuck off, which he definitely deserves he’d say. Still, if it does anything it doesn’t make the dark prince fuck off so to speak. Rather he’d watch her with his usual emotionless gaze, only now it reflects a touch of amusement. 

Still, she takes a deep breath — one of frustration he assumes — he is apparently unwanted here. Which isn’t surprising either. Her next words only surprise him a pinch though.

Who are you, anyway? She demanded. This isn't neutral ground, you know.

Oh. So that’s what those other scents were. A small bunch of wolves are trying to make this place their home it seems. Has he wandered into their dwelling? One could easily mistake it for a small gathering, but apparently not. Perhaps he should tread carefully then.

So he’d lean against a nearby tree, scratching his side with the bark. He’d release a low hum of acknowledgment. “Malacath.” He’d answer her first question in that deep, rasping voice of his. 

He’d tilt his head to her then. “Mm, the scents here are few. Seems I’ve mistaken it for a gathering spot.” He’d offer for his excuse, though he would be telling the truth, perhaps she is not feeling particularly forgiving. Going by her earlier abuse of said tree. 

Which he hasn’t forgotten. 

“What ails you so for you to take your anger out on a tree?” He hums out drably, tone just as emotionless as his face. “Perhaps something living and breathing would satisfy your fury more. No?” He says it with a soft raise of his brows, practically offering himself for her to take her anger out on.