Lone Star Mountain cloud giant

Rodents.

When too sickly to function as a wolf, you instead became feline—and your game became rodents. Not that he consumed them anymore; it was more of a way to get his muscles working once more, if anything. To keep himself sure that he wasn’t entirely without intrinsic function. It had been what he’d kept himself occupied with, when unsupervised; until the peppered male’s greeting, he had been resting. Or, trying to.

And if the impatience at his presence was meant to hurry him along... it couldn’t match the scorn he felt for himself. He knew he was a stranger, practically leeching off of the labor of others; there was nothing that frustrated him more. But as he muscled his way out of the cavern, he saw the peppered Diasporian, a young, dark male he didn’t recall meeting... and then her. Vonn came up short.

A heft of white, pressed along the male he’d come to know as Stigmata. His pale eyes didn’t notice that hers were burnished and bright, only that she didn’t bore the scars of his sister. Still, his jaw quivered, his gaze shuttered close, and he had to look away, to ground himself. He’d always prided himself as an aloof figure, in all the sense of honors and enigmatic sense.

But... Clearing his throat, he turned back again, face a bit impassive and eyes almost despondent. ”Pardon, my lady. You... remind me of my sister.” And had he known where his sister was currently settled, and known the place that this other arctic-one before them was headed... no. He couldn’t ask it of her, not when that glint still lay in her eyes.

Tearing his gaze away to Stigmata, he went on, brow knotting, ”L’matinée. I did not expect you so early. ...I don’t expect to remain prone for much longer.”