Swiftcurrent Creek knows best

Akavir considered the woman, for a moment. Assessing her, certainly, but while she presented herself as a breath of fresh air in comparison to the past few days, there was still a lingering suspicion in the swarthy male’s countenance.

She beckoned, though, and he moved closer, pale eyes sweeping over her before looking about the area where the fight had happened—blood, fur and who knew what else.

It wasn’t a welcoming site.

“A trio came along and thought they’d pick a fight,” he offered—it was, after all, the very basics of the story. He paused finally, ushering a soft sigh. “Akavir Mayfair,” he offered in simple greeting. He just wasn’t much of a conversationalist these days.