Arrow Lake everybody come hang

Kynareth lazes about near a thicket of trees a fair distance away from the lake. Here, at Arrow Lake, the man with the brindled mane lies. He comes here often for a multitude of reasons. Yet today it seems like he just came for the nice view, soon to be much more interesting then he previously thought.

He shoulder and neck are propped against the base of one of many, miscellaneous trees that pepper the surrounding area. His heavy lids catch moment and he’s instantly opening them — alert. Now who is that? A fairly feminine figure, spots and dog like markings. Perhaps he (or she) is a mutt too. He offhandedly thinks before standing to approach.

He’s slow in his forth coming, though not suspiciously so. He walks with a confident, yet lazy swagger, sauntering up towards the other. He doesn’t even try to hid himself or the entertained, almost charming, smirk riddling his maw. 

He stops a comfortable distance away, of perhaps 12 feet. “Oh?” He hums in a type of greeting. “Who are you?” He almost purrs, a watchful golden gaze on their form.