Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
“No thanks necessary.” He says, because it’s true. His courtesy didn’t stem from any gentleman-like intentions, merely from the necessity of the situation. Had he wanted to mind his own business he would’ve, and Lamb wouldn’t be the wiser for it. He could have easily just turned direction and never crossed her path at all.
But he’s gone too long without the back-and-forth casual banter offers. From birth he’d been a shadow at his mother’s shoulder, a pale wisp of ‘silent threat’ that acted as her pack for a time and her guard when they’d decided to hop between planes of existence. It’d been something inbred, easy to assume: the quiet, watchful wolf.
He slips ahead on deathly silent paws, makes his way across the stream with a soft splash, splash, splash that wets his legs and the thick fur along his belly. “I’m Crevan and, yes, I reside here as well.” He growls softly, the natural timbre of his voice carrying over the babbling brook to where she stands. Reaching the opposite bank, the beast hops lightly (much more lightly than one would expect of someone his size) up onto the earth and stands, legs spread, to shake the liquid from his coat.
“Were you heading somewhere? Maybe I can accompany you.” The wolf guesses, noting the hesitation in her eyes that seems to waver over his purpose here, in Sylva. He’s not sure either, kid. “Unless your mother is around somewhere … or unless you just don’t want to go, of course.” He rambles.
This is the downside to being a Shade, a silent threat. You forget how to be ‘sociable’.
With the awkward roll of his shoulders, Crevan rounds his back and slumps into a comfortable sit. They’re nearly eye-level to one another, but he won’t come closer than this. Her smell was … overpowering, and no doubt his wet stench was less than pleasant.
@[Lavendel]