Don't Fake This

She was a pretty young thing, bathed in pure ivory fur, her eyes a combination of what appeared to be silver and baby blue. Her scent was familiar, but not because he'd run into her before. She smelled of that pack he went to for the wedding, what was the name...Valhalla. That was it. The esquire had accompanied his king and fellow pack mates on the trek to Valhalla for the marriage of the prince Maverick and the princess Epiphron. Had she been at the ceremony too? He didn't doubt it. Most of Valhalla had attended the ceremony, so she had probably been there somewhere among the crowed, gone unnoticed by the Seracian man. But he sure did notice her now. She gave him a small smile as she took the blame upon herself, claiming that she should have been paying more attention before offering up her name as Rayne. Very pretty name for a very pretty woman. Please, I insist it was my own fault. I shouldn't have been standing around the tree like an idiot. It's a pleasure to meet you Rayne, my name is Pontifex.


He offered her a gentle bow of the head to accompany his greeting, haunches folding beneath him as he sat, audits flickering forward with attention, the embarrassment of their initial encounter beginning to wear off.



Talk like this