He isn't far, he was always around at the most opportune times. She calls, his ears pivot on his head, pushing aside his raven locks to hear. It was a familiar sound but one he had not heard for some time. One that he knew Kirin missed and was probably the reason for his lack of interaction lately.
Kult smiles, a wicked crooked grin, planting his hoof firmly into the belly of the otter he had been tormenting. One finally shrill scream from the creature before it's life was his. It was his way of responding back, she called, he answered.
Climbing the crags he crawls to her, snaking a serpentine path to stand before her. He never carries his head high so he need not lower it now, he is already giving her the respect she commands. He is bloodied, when is he not? Dried patches of wine splash his face, his legs, even his hair. He had changed some, like he notes that she has, but where some men might stiffen at her sight he simply took her in. Sex appeal was not a thing for Kult, he didn't understand it, probably never would. His coat was graying, like Kirin, but the absence of color was a natural one. His bay was merely beginning to peel back into a rose-tinted cloud.
He had not cleaned, Kirin would not approve, perhaps he would not care this time. His black vapid eyes find hers before he crackles her name, "Nicia" he says simply, but he says so much by saying little.
He does not touch her, he doesn't care to be touched himself, so a close personal eye gaze will have to do in place of embraces.
