Dawnlark Plains η

the were many, and it left him unsettled that they were outnumbered. faces he did not know and did not care to know. all their leering eyes making his lips curl with disgust, with the urge to blot them out. but faust ordered he only watch, and so he would. towering by his baskaan's side, strong and resolute, head low as his glare shifts from wolf to wolf, before settling on one who spoke to Faust.

a putrid, foul thing. his smell strong enough to blind the valley. a stench Iosef wanted to rid of—he did not like the look in the filthy man's eye. he did not like the tone of voice he was using. as if they were better than darukaal. as if iosef was supposed to give two fucks about the pack he and his wife were to found. 

as if he cared about peace.

it took much within him not to growl, even more to not spit at the putrid man's feet. instead, he takes a seat, staring the man down with a grimace. as if even looking upon him hurt.