Silverlight Terrace one, two princes

— sky eater’s lips curl in response.

crooked muzzle lifting from the grass where he had been nosing for nothing, dirt still clinging wet against his tongue.

scenting for the stranger, rogue male; unfamiliar, sharp with wolf but not blood he knows, not lanzadoii, not muradoii.

he fills his lungs slow, ribcage straining, and the air leaves him in a low huff, neither welcome nor warning. his ears cant forward, torn edges cutting black against the glow.

sky eater is hesitant. he isn’t friendly; he does not match the wag of the other’s tail, but neither is he unfriendly. chuffing and taking an angling step closer.

who?