Dragoncrest Cliffs deity of scars

She made a sound of discontent, and Svalinn read her face which had become shadowed with distaste. Having been raised by an archfiend of a mother and briefly married to an impetuous shrew, he had learned to detect even the most minute changes in expressions out of self-preservation.

Women!

Temperamental. Quick to judge. Easy to offend. He was used to it. By now, it all rolled off his back like water on a duck. Though he did wonder what he said that upset her, he knew better than to linger on it.

At her query, the raybearer snorted. Hell no. It was almost laughable. I don’t do this ‘cause I’m some altruistic sap. And I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. I serve because I know my role. And I want to serve Sapphique because it was born from the pack founded by my mother, a tried-and-true siren. There was pride there, even if he knew his sole purpose was to serve the she-wolves in his life. But I’ll only provide for those who want me to.