Silvertip Mountain clang shmurda

There was rarely anything that Sinaaq cared about, extremely little of it spanning out beyond his own self. Too many circumstances in life, all of which that had helped to shape him into who he was today, left him hurting. Sinaaq coped with these heartbreaks in the only way he knew how: seclusion from everyone and everything. There had once, when he had “been” with Solia Saturnin though there had been no label on their relationship, for it had never gotten to that point, in which Sinaaq had thought it possible that he could change. That he could let the festering wounds of his heart finally heal and become something else from the darkling. Of course, that had never meant to be and had never came to pass. Regardless, the knowledge that it was possible to change was now nothing short of terrifying to the Arrluk and at any chance he got to kill the infection that he saw as change within him, he took it without hesitation. Suffering was all he had known and it was all he wanted to know because it was safe. Falling in love, healing it was risky, it would make him vulnerable and therefore he wanted nothing to do with it.

Sinaaq was not nescient to the other male's staring, merely he chose not to capitalize upon it. Stares were nothing unusual to the darkling and vanity incarnate quietly reveled in the attention. The ivory colored male's question broke through the silence that had settled between them, likely borne of Sinaaq's disinterest in the other's welfare beyond that he had been the source of all the dissonance. "No," Sinaaq responded simply. He did not think anyone lived in this place, unaware that once upon a time the pack whose ranks he called home had once inhabited this very mountain. If he'd have known he might have seen some sort of irony in the situation but alas he did not. "I take it you do not as well." Judging by the other's scent that carried heavily the scent of a pack — a pack that obviously did not inhabit this place.