hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
He is not surprised when she shows up. He has come to expect that Ryatah does not necessarily do what is unconventional, but she certainly does what is in the best interest of her survival—and that usually meant listening to the things she is told to do. (Not that he has any desire to hunt her down should she have tried to say no; at least not now.) Still, he grins when she does show, his yellow gaze flicking to the angelic sight of her on the borders of Hyaline—a juxtaposition of loveliness from the shadows that bruise her.
He says nothing until she is by his side, making a noise in his throat as the only answer to her question as he continues to look outward, studying the mountains and the trees. It was no Chamber (in truth, he has a hard time imagining its counterpart in any of old Beqanna), but that doesn’t mean he dislikes it. Certainly he prefers the cooler climate to the absurdly hot climate of Tephra. How Twinge and Magnus had come to love that tropical jungle weather is beyond him, but he has certainly never grown an affinity for it.
“It was available,” he finally manages, chewing on the inside of his cheek slightly. The truth was that he had seen an opportunity and took it. The scent of the leader had long faded from the borders and it happened to be tucked underneath the protection of Anaxarete. It was comfortable and quiet and he was looking forward to sinking his claws into the soil and making it his own—whether for hunting or women.
He flashes a crooked smile as he angles his head toward her, studying her for a moment.
“What made you decide to come?”
He has a feeling he knows, but it was always more interesting hearing it from her.
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes