7/24/2026, 2:52 PM
No response, but there is movement in the shadows he cannot make out clearly. Sverke urges himself to exercise patience, some degree of caution helping to pin him to the stone's cool surface as the acidic notes of sick reach his sensitive, gold-kissed nose. Red petal after red petal piles on his fur like scarlet snowfall, undisturbed by movement except the rise and fall of his breath and the attentive twitch of his ears, the main sign that despite his statuesque posture, the man is searching intently for his quarry.
She emerges in tentative increments from the invisibility of the shadows. A fawn's dappling of sunlight on an onyx back, the shape of her silhouette formed by the draping of wisteria like a lace shawl, and gold light that tips her toes. That's all, except for wary eyes of ice glowing from within the forest. Sverke settles his chin deeper on the pillow of his wrists, and rewards the stranger's approach - and caution - with a sweep of his white-tipped tail. He sizes her up, picking out scarce details and filling in blotted swaths of shadow with bony shoulders and slim limbs.
Frail, skittish maidens have become something of an acquired taste. Sverke keeps crossing paths with them, after all, and his greed is an undiscerning thing. Approval smooths his brow, and appreciation curves his mouth into a faint smile.
He shakes his head and scruff, shedding the hawk's intensity of his gaze and the red flower petals. A flicker of mirth is in the dusky glow of his eyes as he seeks to return her stare.
Hey there. You from the folks camped over there?A flick of his chin to indicate the direction he means, the pack borders he's aware of and not particularly concerned about. He knows to keep himself on the neutral side of them, and if the pack-wolves want to pick a fight outside their purview, Sverke will deliver. Could be fun.
