Silver Creek he is beloved and he is feared

thank you for joining! ♥

kjalarr's head rises from the creek, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls to collect the stray droplets of water that dribble from his lips and chin, turning his eyes — one caribbean blue and the other frosted milky white — to the stranger that has emerged from the underbrush. vague and writhing shadows in the thick fog of his left eye offers him no aid but kjalarr, stubborn, still tries to use it. to act like he is not all-but blind in it. he's had time to learn how hunt, how to fight without it. the warborn draws in a deep breath, draws in the scent of the stranger whose features tell kjalarr that he is coywolf. for a moment, it draws a regretful stab beneath his breast as he inadvertently thinks of caiaphas and their reunion and how it had all gone wrong.

the coywolf is nimble, almost elegant with his movements. kjalarr's ears twitch at the other male's question. a wild thing. yes. yes, kjalarr thinks, that is a good way to describe him. "perhaps." kjalarr answers nonchalantly, a tease of coyness to his tone. he agrees with it but it's not his place to pin that upon himself. arrogance, kjalarr has learned, only leads to downfall every time. kjalarr keeps his eyes upon the stranger and does not bother to hide the intrigue that he feels.