The Sunspire [m] carved teeth

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Akavir wasn’t in the habit of forcing himself where he wasn’t wanted—at least, he liked to think he wasn’t. Perhaps, in life, he hadn’t been assertive enough when the moment had truly called for it—was that why, instead of embracing honesty and possible push back, he had instead swallowed his feelings for others, and opted an easier route.

Those feelings had been better guided, though—unlike the storm that brewed in his chest. His presence had been unwanted and now it was unwarranted. So why was he disgruntled? A cry echoed down the mountain—and he was not far from its owner, though certainly far enough that a stray rock would not be punted down upon his head this time.

Enough that the idle scent on the breeze was less tempting.

But not far enough that he still did not worry—and if Viinturuth was here, as had been spoken—why did the fiery swamp panther elicit such cries?

He paused—he wavered. He desisted his trajectory of tracking goat, a useless way to pretend he was busy, and tilted his muzzle up, calling for his brother—answering the call of the banshee as morning only now crept along the mountain crevices.