King Elk Forest The wind

It’s clear the crow-wolf does not want to converse with the likes of him — the almighty leader of the Saints. Perhaps his fight or flight instincts are truly too powerful to allow him to comfortably lie beside a beast such as himself and have a decent conversation. 

So, as the other offers a terse reply and a moderately awkward goodbye, Kyn chuckles deeply, almost teasingly. His limbs flex as he gets up, coingold eyes holding nothing but mirth…and perhaps something a bit more malicious. The brindled brute feigns indifference with a wide and casual smile full of dangerous teeth. 

“Such a wretched conversationalist.” He teases. “And I thought we were having a swell time.” 

Kyn turns his back confidently on the other male, allowing his head to tilt ever so slightly to look at Crowfeather as he sidles away. “Loosen up some, dear. You’d be surprised of the good it does.” With that, the Grandmaster would lazily leave the vicinity, that mask of casual arrogance never leaving his face.