Bonesplinter Ravine i see the crimson thief, hanging on heartstrings

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The feral commander cares little for company outside his own brother but that is how he has always been and he sees not immediate change on the horizon. He relies upon Conan for many things in his life but mostly for being the buffer between the feral and the world that he does not entirely grasp. Declan is a beast of instinct, he operates on baser, primal things. He has no true need for words. They mean little to him. They were deceptive, hollow things. What good is word against action? Company does not elude him this night. Company beyond that of the dead, that is. He hears the footfalls and his head whips around to face the approaching male, with wild amber gaze seeking for a moment before it locks upon the earthen hued man. He is new to Teaghlaigh, Declan thinks. Or perhaps he is not. It is not as if Declan is overly social and pays much attention to who is new and who is established among The Family. It doesn’t much matter, anymore. Established members of The Family were liable to stab Ceannasach in the back repeatedly just as much as any new Comhlach was. This he has seen, has heard. So perhaps, he thinks, words are not all useless. A grunt of acknowledgment is given to the other male, as Declan wonders why he is out here in this hellish place. Was it to join the feral commander on his patrol? Or had curiosity gotten the better of him? But despite his desire to know these things he does not part his muzzle to give words to them.

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