Hideaway Strath Boys are like trees, they take 50 years to grow up

Kynareth’s in the same boat as Aerin. Minding his own business and floating about the territory until he sees a large form of white pass by a few meters ahead of him. At first he mistakes Vein for Nyra, but quickly realizes that she never allows her fur to become so soiled. Then his train of thought is easily offering the image of Vein into his mind. 

Ah. Yes it’s definitely him. He thinks absentmindedly.

He’s quick to follow, yet he soon realizes he probably shouldn’t have. He only stands with curiosity on his face as he watches him linger by a flat rock with a poor baby rabbit in his maw. Death doesn’t bother him unless he cares about the individual, so watching him crack this poor creatures spine in half doesn’t cause him to be surprised. What does strike shock into him is when Vein himself stands atop the alter and seems to be dissecting it. Ripping away its soft fur and opening up its chest with surgical like precision. It’s impressive and Kynareth’s mesmerized. 

Soon enough the Grandmaster is realizing that this is a sacrifice. He smiles horribly. He’s always found other wolves religions interesting, especially when it involves something as fucked up as a live sacrifice. It makes him wonder why he doesn’t believe in something like that.

Finally though, Vein’s ritual seems to end with a booming howl that cascades over the plains of snow. Whipping through the trees and echoing off the mountain ranges. It’s beautiful and Kynareth finds the fact that the man is stained in blood even better. 

He finally lets himself be known. Silently sauntering into view with a smile across his handsome face. “That was quite the show, darling. I’m impressed. Care to elaborate?” He asks, genuinely wondering why he did so.