Hideaway Strath Where ma fuxkin’ kids at??

Kynareth had been murmuring to Simmik in low, idle conversation when he sees the pale woman make herself known. He takes her in — her face, expression, emotions, and her body. She’s very clearly pregnant. Ah, that could be why she had retreated to the strath. He wouldn’t put it past her to want somewhere away from the bustle of their enemies while she’s births. 

Not only does she arrive, another does too. A man, agouti and stout. Strong looking with a serious eye and an expression that means business — watchful and suspicious of them. This is the other scent he’s made up on the borders. Perhaps this is her husband of sorts? Maybe the father of her pups? Or at least this is what Kyn will assume. Purely for that reason ge doesn’t offer the man an unruly glare, but merely a glance of golden orbs and a duo of his chin in acknowledgment.

Now, Nyra, or Fury, but Kyn has no idea of the change in name. He watches her now as many emotions cross her face and eyes. He swears he sees her eyes even water and when she speaks he ears betrayal and questioning. He understands her emotions, but he is here for one reason — two technically: his sons. 

“Nyra,” He hums. His expression isn’t cold, but it isn’t warm. He did not want to come back afterall, but he is glad to see she is alive and well. So his face slowly becomes warmer with familiarity. “Why now you ask?” He parrots her words. “I fear my boys have fucking died. I look for them.” He answers simply. Thought he words themselves may sound harsh, his tone is rather soft but strong as well.