Cynics & Critics

Lykos paused in his winter-y trek, head lifted and ears pricking fully in the direction of the call. That was his mother, calling outside of pack territory. Concern flitted through his gaze - was something wrong? Only a moment later he dismissed that worry; if there was something wrong that howl would have sounded quite a bit more urgent than it was. No, his mother just wanted to... talk. Well, he supposed that was a good thing; he had something he needed to talk to her about as well. He started off in her direction, at a moderate pace; he wasn't going to keep her waiting, but he wasn't exactly going to run full-force when it was unnecessary to and would simply tire him. The snow crunched under his paws, and it was quite the pleasant sound; soon, there'd be no snow, even in the North, except for a few regions. He cherished the cold underpaw, and would miss it when it was gone for the summer.

It didn't take long for him to arrive where his mother was, and he eyed the shorter woman. What was it she wished to speak of? He knew he had to speak of Vereux - this man's... deeds, what he did to Yfir... that was not right. It was not fitting for a wolf of Ivalice and even less so as the father of his siblings, let alone his mother's mate. Surely, she couldn't have known about any of this when she chose him. At least, he certainly hoped not. Either way, he'd let her speak first, and greeted her simply with a tilt of his head as he seated himself.

"Speech" | Think