Hideaway Strath I taste you on my tongue
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#1
All Welcome 
Set late evening near the northern end of the river. Forward dated to the next day! Tagging @Patroclus

Kynareth’s been striding through his beautiful territory. Well, as beautiful as it could get all covered in snow and all that. Which, in a different way, still makes it beautiful. 

His mind drifts to many things. His pack, the future of his pack, and the members that dwell within his pack. It makes him think about the maroon wolf that just join hardly a day ago. It’s time to show him around finally. 

So the Grandmaster tilts his massive head out and releases a blistering howl to call for none other than Patroclus himself. Kynareth is sure he’s going to have a swell time teasing and playing with him.
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#2
And who was he to make the kind man wait?

Patroclus practically glided through the new territory, a certain pep in his step unable to be hidden that evening. He arrived the same way he had yesterday. Perfectly neutral but some warmth to his facial features.

You called? He asked with a slight inflection upward in the pitch of his tone. Patroclus would not admit it right away, but he certainly felt charmed to be called for specifically.

To be wanted was all he wanted.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#3
Kynareth leaning against a tree when the man of the hour comes. Kyn sweeps his hawkish orbs over the snow until he meets the others gaze. “Ah, yes.” He comments uselessly. “I’ve been meaning to show you around.” The grandmaster pushes off the tree and moves closer, only leaving a fair foot or so in between them.

Already he feels the twinge of a smirk pull at his lips. This man seems brave, ready to please, happy. Perhaps he hasn’t been a part of a pack in sometime. It reminds Donovan about how he doesn’t know his story and how he might just want to. So Kyn nods his head in the opposite direction of him, a universal signal for Let’s go. and he begins a slow, comfortable walk. 

“So, Patroclus.” He finds himself purring. “What brought you here? How has fate dropped you off at the Saints doorstep?” He converses confidently. His entire being — his aura — radiated confidence as he takes sure steps forward, occasionally brushing shoulders with the male beside him.
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#4
It would do him well to know the place, instead of simply the spots where he rested buried in snow. So he followed in pleased silence. Although it seems he is pressed for conversation and he is, indeed, eager to please.

Ears swept back softly at the purr of his name before they righted once more. Patroclus returned the occasional contact as they moved along, eyes trained forward as if it was nothing. Surely it was nothing.

Luck, I suppose. He teased with warmth. I am sure my parents expected me to build more. However, I — as I have informed you — do better in supportive efforts. So I wander and find those to support.

Content to let himself be a rambling fool under the presence of a confident male.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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Thankfully Kyn doesn’t see the reaction to the purring of his name, or he surely would’ve acted more upon it. Yet, he’s perfectly fine with stepping beside the smaller and listening to him. It’s short and sweet, right to the point. Surprisingly no longing story of his past or reminiscing on those he knew elsewhere. He likes that. It seems he’s a man that lives in the moment, but he can’t quite tell just yet.

Now lucky — lucky isn’t a word Kynareth would describe anyone to landed at their doorstep. Rather unlucky would suffice better. Or perhaps in this case Patroclus is lucky for meeting Kynareth and Nyra when they were in a good mood. 

Still he doesn’t linger too long on the thought. Deciding to go to the next topic of conversation. “I see.” He laughs lowly. “You’re quite lucky and unlucky at the same time I’d say.” His voice doesn’t carry anything foreboding in it, it’s merely a playful comment. “I’m glad we found you first.” The Grandmaster ends with a chuckle as he purposely bumps their shoulders together.

Though Kynareth vaguely entertains the idea of what would’ve happened if this man had found another pack before them. He might’ve been meeting him in a completely different way. With his fangs itching for blood and Patroclus being the nearest living thing. 

Needless to say, he carries on without saying so. “So, as I said before, we’re territorial. We will insight kill, or try to kill, whatever comes here unwelcome. You’re welcome to approach a situation however you seem fit of course. The strath is our main territory. It reaches the back of the mountains. There is only one way in and out of here and it’s the northern entrance you entered from.” He would go on to tell him about the surrounding territories that hugged the strath. Bonesplinter Ravine, Black Morass, Boartusk Heights, and Cedar sweep. All territories they do not technically own, but claim and patrol anyways. They’re greedy, what can he say?

Finally Kyn stops talking, getting tired of even his own voice and assuming the other does too. “Any questions for me? I’m sure you can only bear my voice for so long.” He looks over to him with a playful smirk. “No pressure.” He hums, eyes lighting up at the teasing banter.
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#6
For a man who felt nothing but lucky these last few hours, he had no clue how to interrupt such words. So he kindly skips them and lands comfortably on what sounded to be a compliment. Indeed they had found him first. Both alphas had swooped upon him like hungry vultures. However...he could understand such if the next words were as honest as they sounded.

He held his tongue for all of it. Listened closely to the rundown he was given on the land and the way they operated. He almost felt a bit of whiplash for the topic to range back into the playful territory. His brain had been so submerged into learning.

Oh hush. He offered in a soft mumble with a bit of a firm bump to Kynareth. Your voice is fine and it is my job to listen to it. A listener and follower had been what he was after all. Questions, though? You leave me few to ask. Maybe...could I call upon you should I feel ill equipped for a situation?

Him specifically.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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He’s grateful that the other seems content to absorb the Saints way of life. He doesn’t know all of it, but surely he’d understand soon with time and experience. Hopefully they’re not as bad as Leigh’s. Still, it’s obvious that the man is willing to learn and that only intrigues Kynareth further. A bright young mind such as him will be useful no matter the skill set he has. 

Yet, all of a sudden Kynareth seems to be breaking his concentration. He doesn’t know it, but he does. He can’t help but tease the other, it’s second nature for him. When the other only answers back with an easy Oh hush. Kynareth’s smile may or may not have gotten bigger. One of his circular brows quirking up with intrigue as he reassures him that his voice isn’t appalling to listen to. Which to him means I like the sound of your voice and I must be flirting with you. regardless if Patroclus meant it like that or not.

He manages to save his flirty comments. Rather taking interest in the way he requests permission to call upon him when he’s needed. The striped brute has no idea that he means him specifically... or he might. 

“Of course you can. Don’t ever hesitate to.” He answers quickly. It’s an easy decision. Every member should feel comfortable enough with him to call him in a time of need. 

But back to more important matters. Kynareth’s smile grows. Taking on a confident edge that only succeeds in making him look more handsome by the second. Or more like a dick, it depends on who’s watching. “So, you like the sound of my voice, huh?” He instantly accuses in a wonderfully flirty, but much too casual purr. His goal is to fluster him if able. His flirtatious tendencies shameless as he settles golden orbs on the smaller males face.
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#8
He laughed. It was not a deep sound like thunder, like what the man beside him might summon. It was a light sound akin to songbirds in spring. Perhaps a bit girlish when paired with his sheepish smile. Or maybe it isn’t girlish. Maybe it is simply Patroclus.

Easily smitten when given a smidge of attention.

It does not hurt my ears or bore me, if that’s what you’re asking. He served back in fellow playfulness. Also with a soft smile that did not contain even an ounce of the confidence his new alpha had.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#9
The Grandmaster even finds the others laugh quite endearing. His ears perk up at the noise and he speaks it in. He’s shamelessly enraptured by him. They don’t get many men around here. Let alone, men don’t seem to like Kynareth anyhow. It’s always females fawning over him.

Yet, it just seems like another poor soul ensnared by the Saintsman’s charm. A rather brutish charm if anything. Some find it annoying, some find it playful, something fun. Others all together hate his guts and would rather him not even breathe in their direction. Either way, he couldn’t care. He’s only glad to be on the receiving end of a much more fruitful interaction. Hell, Kyn counts Patroclus’ next sentence as a compliment.

“How sweet. I would say the same of you, peaches.” He hums bravely. Back to business — kind of. “Is there anything else you think you might need to know?” The brindle male asks softly, never taking his eyes off of him.
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#10
The name arrived again. Perhaps sweeter this time around as Patroclus found himself in a more...comfortable social position. No longer a complete stranger to this man. He had become a follower under him. Even if here, entirely alone, he felt like an equal to the larger man.

It would be smart of me to ask how best to show my use to you and yours. Especially seeing as my skills aren’t...exactly physically shown like most do. A bit of shy laughter this time. He knew he did not offer the traditional things. Not some grand hunter and not a mastered warrior.

I would like to prove myself as much as I can and submerge myself into things here.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
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Kyn can’t help but chuckle at the nervous laughter that bubbles up from the others throat as he explains that he want to make himself useful here. Truly, it wouldn’t be hard for him to do so.

“Relax.” He soothes calmly. “Don’t stress it. There’s many ways to make yourself useful. You could assist our medics in obtaining the supplies they need. You could hunt and store it in the cache. It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. You could patrol our borders, watch for anything suspicious.” Then his eyes land on him once more. “You could even spy for us if you feel up for the task.” He ends with a bit of humorous excitement to his voice.

“Just know, even though I am merciless to those outside of my pack, I want those within to feel comfortable enough to come to me with any issue. I truly don’t flex my rank unless I really have to.” He says it casually, conversationally.
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#12
Of course he narrowed in on the last suggestion. It rung with excitement from the other male and Patroclus could not stop himself from pressing himself a bit closer. A consistent touch instead of jovial bumps.

Do you find me fit to spy? Humored by a suggestion but...he consider it the same as all the other ones.

He felt truly comfortable here, nestled in a private place next to the man who led. It would have been a bold move back home and so Patroclus still felt it bold here. As if he had already accomplished something so grand just by being here for this conversation.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
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#13
Patroclus presses further against the Grandmaster, the warm of their combined bodies making it just that much more pleasant, it is quite cold out after all. Still, the brindle males interest is piqued when the other asks if he is fit to spy. It truly makes him think for a moment. Only supplying him with a contemplative hum and an easy, rather lazy, smile. 

“I would have to get to know you better.” He admits. “From a strangers point of view I would lean towards a yes. You seem eager to work. You’d fit in easily to the packs I’d have you spy on.” Then his mind wanders to @Zsuzsa. The midnight woman with the longest, most beautifully slender legs he’s ever seen. “We have a wolf that is on a long term mission. She’s made herself at home in another pack in hopes to gain information.” Then he pauses, a humorous laugh bubbling up from his throat as he says “I hope she doesn’t get too comfortable. Though I say this in good heart, I don’t doubt her loyalty.” 

Then his golden orbs look back down to him and they’re sparkling with that familiar flirtatious look in them. “In conclusion; I think you’d be a fine spy, princess.” He teases. “Perhaps you’ll have to prove it to me one day.”
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#14
Patroclus was easily enamored with the idea of living such a life. Some grand adventure under scandalous guises. However he had his own personal doubts on how well he could do such a thing.

Regardless he was given a little seal of approval and a new name. One that stirred his emotions in confused playfulness. Patroclus was not used to such things, but he had thoughts. Feelings.

I'd be prince. He corrected softly as he sought to bound ahead some and offered wide, sweeping wags of his tail. A look thrown over his shoulder to Kynareth.

Would the giant play along?
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
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Of course he would play along. So as the other claps back with his own playful quip and goes rushing forward, the Grandmaster’s maw twists into a smirk. He doesn’t even think twice. With an excited wave of his own curled tail he’s galloping after him. The muscles beneath his striped pelt flex as he trudged through the snow. 

“Oh?” He huffs, the sound slurring into a laugh. “My apologies your Majesty. I’ll be sure to get it right next time.” Comes his husky tone as he catches up. Catching onto the game he wants to play he attempts to nip at the others hip as he goes.
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#16
He swayed his hips at the nip that had been placed upon one. A little fluff of his fur from thrilled excitement. It felt stupidly bold to make such foolish demands of a stronger, higher man. Yet he found himself washed in bliss for it. Especially when Kynareth seemed keen to play along.

Majesty, He purred with a broad sweep of his tail, lifted for only a moment. I think I like that more than prince. Patroclus’ words were accented by his songbird laughter before he sought to take the lead once more in playful bounds.
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#17
Majesty. the russet man hums pleasantly. It has Kynareth’s maw opening up into a broad laugh. Louder than his usual breathy chuckles, a booming noise that reverberates his chest and has him stumbling in the deep snow.

It’s quick to die out as he sends another rumbling tease out. “It’s got a nice ring to it, huh?” 

He’s following quickly behind and urging himself from his slower gallop into a short sprint. His head bows dangerously and a sly smirk imprints on his face. “I think it even —“ He moves to the opposite side a bit, just before he attempts to headbut the others side to send him sprawling. Not horribly hard, but just enough to get the job done. His smart mouth never ceases to stop talking even during battle, finishing with “— suits you.” and a shallow grunt on impact. If he’s lucky enough to impact that is.

If he’s successful he would be seen playfully stalking toward his downed pack mate in hopes of taking their play fight to the mat.
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Patroclus would not admit such a thing, but it was likely how he was dwarfed by the man that impact was made easy. Meaningful impact that sent him into a stumble. Soon he met the snowy earth with a soft huff.

His limbs tucked close to his underside as he simply watched the larger man. Patroclus could feel his heart as it thrummed rapidly in his chest. Excited, thrilled and vulnerable.

Does it? Most majesty I know does not get knocked over, yet here I am. He protested with a mock pout, humor heavy in his words despite the face he pulled. Still find me worthy of the title?
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
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The Grandmaster watches the other tumble through the snow with hardly contained glee. Immediately hunching down into a playful stalk, large paws slowly lifting up and going down —disappearing into the snow. 

Kyn chuckles at how cute the pout makes his face. His eyes closing and a confident ‘Han Solo’ smirk coming to his face as he nods casually. Absolutely, darling, the title looks good on you.” He offers shamelessly, eyes flicking open and meeting the others mischievously.

He could then be seen stalking even closer, practically towering over him at this point. “Sorry I knocked you over.” He rumbles with a shit eating grin. Teasing like he isn’t even sorry. “Here, let me —“ He’s casually stepping over Patroclus’ limbs and begins bravely tugging and nipping at his neck. “— help you up, your majesty.” It’s muffled but he gets the words out well enough for the suggestive twang in his tone to show through.
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#20
He felt...warm. Something he could blame on a number of things. The thick winter coat he still held onto, the sudden closeness of them, maybe he found himself abruptly sick with a fever. Excuses. He knew how to paint plenty of them when backed into a corner.

Patroclus moved his front limbs. Stretched outwards now so he could push his front paws into the large chest of the other man. A lazy attempt to keep him at bay, not that he wanted to, but he felt inclined to keep up his end of the game he had started.

You’ve clearly never dealt with majesty before. He teased in an almost whisper, no need for loudness when placed this close. How can I forgive this...oversight of how to handle someone of my status? A giggle followed, slipped free from him as if Kynareth had nipped it right out of his throat.
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Is it getting hot in here or is Kyn just loosing his mind? The answer is yes. 

Kynareth’s chest rumbles as he laughs into his fur. It’s low and breathy as he lifts his monstrous head up. His grin horribly cocky and sly, hawkish eyes half lidded, and a circular brow cocked. 

Then he scoffs playfully. “Of course I’ve dealt with majesties — I’m the fuckin’ king, baby.” The boast transitions into a hearty laugh and he’s leaning back down to torture Patroclus some more. “Perhaps, I’ll have to make it up to you. For my, utter disrespect of your title.” 

Teeth reach for his throat again, unable to shut up. “Maybe take you on a nice date. Go hunting or maybe a spar. Go bask in the moonlight at the beautiful waterfall a few miles away from here.” He mumbles so horribly confident into his fur, paying no mind to the paws at his chest.
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#22
It was a good reminder for Patroclus. As much as he teased and played his role, he was not the king here. Even if he felt pampered in this moment. Especially as the idea of a date was laid before him.

No one, ever, had spoken to Patroclus like the behemoth that loomed over him.

He actively tilted his head back as he exposed more of his neck. A show of trust truly. A spar. At the waterfall in the moonlight. He decided on. Certain of it in that moment.

Even if he felt even more certain that Kynareth would win in such a match up. Patroclus had tussled with men back home in his Kingdom but he did not think he had ever been so outmatched before like this. Perhaps that was what had guided his decision. Ready to be exposed to the force of what a monolith could do.

You wouldn’t deny a prince that, would you?
left hind ankle is mending from a break. mobility is limited and painful.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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More neck is showed in a faithful upwards tilt of the russet man’s chin. It has Kynareth’s smile growing slightly as his teeth nip just a bit harder. Then he’s suggesting — no, confirming exactly the type of date he would like. The Grandmaster perks his auds up clearly entertained and enthusiastic. He likes being ordered around every once in a while. By the right wolves of course.

He pulls back once more, unable to whips the cocky smile that contorts his face handsomely. “Your Majesty,” He corrects playfully. “I would never dream of denying you such a thing.” 

Then all of a sudden he’s moving off of him and sauntering just a step away. “Then it’s a date. When will you be ready, darling?” He ask with a light tilt of his head. A gleam of white teeth greeting him as well.
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Good. He huffed dramatically, paws aimed to momentarily press deeper into the man's chest. Except suddenly Kynareth pulled away and Patroclus felt...bare. Exposed, a bit raw in the whirlwind of emotion. It was almost too much for him to comprehend.

In a tangle of his own limbs and emotions, he found it in him to stand again. I am ready always. Such is the life of majesty. He teased before he craned his neck some to nip his teeth through his own fur where he could. Make himself look presentable.
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The other seems momentarily stunned that the brute removed himself. He had to. If he was on top of him any longer he might have done something much worse than just nibble on his neck a little. Still, watching him scrabble to get up entertains him and the words he says even more so.

“Perfect.” He takes a few steps to the north and looks back at him. “You’re escort is ready. Shall we?” He hums back with a sly smile and a cock of his brow.