Hideaway Strath sarcophagus

I am not a fighter, Noble Kynareth. 

Those words and that voice make Kyn smirk for different reasons. His golden eyes watch him carefully, lips tilted up easily as the other explains what he’s actually good at. This doesn’t bother the Grandmaster though. After all, his pack has always thrives on the wayward souls that fueled it and he would get use out of them somehow — anyway he’s able to. Everyone’s good at something and if they’re not, a bit of persistence and training could always make them better. He’s not worried about it.

Kyn chuckles and nods. “Surely not.” He answers back. He knows the other won’t disappoint him and even if he does it’s not like he’d kick him out. Plenty of his pack mates have disappointed him on one occasion or another. 

“Don't be so uptight.” He hums then. “Sure, respect is necessary, but I’m not a dictator and I won’t kill you for a little mistake.” Then he smirks. “Unless you want me to of course.” Then he moves a little ways away after bumping his massive head to his shoulder in a type of goodbye. “Don’t be shy, go make some friends, peaches.” The Grandmaster chuckles back. “Call on me whenever you need, for the meantime, I will alert the pack of your arrival so they don’t eat you.”