King Elk Forest resident mercenary checking in

the morwinyon squints, still not entirely sure what to make of the fellow's blathering good will. he keeps looking for the snark and bite and coming up empty, but... ah, fuck it. time will tell. he huffs slightly, at least pleased to have someone to keep an eye on the elk for them. the last thing he needs is for something to happen to their king elk while mato is on leave. 

delight makes a dismissive gesture with one paw. he still doesn't feel entirely comfortable being addressed as morwinyon anyway - mato's the prince and druid, not he. "our hierarchy is based on trades," he tells him, "the skills you decide to pursue. i trust you'll work to prove yourself, so. welcome to tindómë, troy." he does not quite smile, but his face relaxes as he steps aside to usher the strangely good-natured beast into their borders.