Graceful Rooms of Alabaster Stone
08-24-2013, 08:09 PM
The young Knight was completely ignorant as to who had had possession of Glaciem before his father. As far as he knew, Glaciem had been under the control of his father for the longest time, or so he assumed that's how it had been. He wasn't aware that a past king and queen had taken over the Kingdom. But Cross certainly was aware of that, the slight display of fang and clear wrinkling of his muzzle telling Taurig as much. He could feel a muted anger rolling off in waves from the large youth and it sent the hackles rising along the Knight's spine. Had he said something to upset the young man? He had only presented himself as he was accustomed to doing so with everyone else he had met. No one else had had such a reaction like Cross. What was his problem? Inky ears folded against his massive skull, his own muzzle crinkling in a silent snarl, muscles tensing in agitation, his shoulders rolling in preparation. If this young man attacked him, then the Glaciem man would have no choice but to defend himself. He wasn't about to let some child attack him just because he had unintentionally hurt his feelings. He could see the wheels turning behind the youth's emerald gaze and slowly the crinkling of his muzzle would smooth out, his emerald gaze becoming merely observant once more. The grey-blue man watched the youth for several more moments, unable to relax until he was certain Cross would not make any advances towards him. It was only when he began to speak that the Knight relaxed his features, allowing them to fall back into an unreadable mask, his gaze icier than the arches of ice he had seen in a region in the north. You do not look like the bare-jawed one. The last one to call himself 'king' near these parts was a brown wolf born out of the Valhallan Pack. Who is your father then? Bare jawed one? What was that supposed to mean? A brown wolf from Valhalla? So a Valhallan had taken control of Valhalla before his father had? Clearly I bare no resemblance to this past king that you speak of. My father is Isardis, not the Valhallan man that you speak of. Came icy tones, unsure if he was fit to let his guard down around this child anymore. Talk like this |