bad decisions make for great stories

There was a long pause before a response followed up his warning. A feminine voice, for sure. This time, the fae had raised her voice enough that he could be certain. Years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to put the moves on. Now? Well, he'd have to get a look at her before he made any decisions on that front. Another snicker from him in response, and he shook out his fluffy coat. The bed looked comfortable enough. It would be fine. "Not quite cold enough for your fur to stick to the stone, I'd just have to roll you out of the way tomorrow morning." he replied, opting for the usual deadpan tone. Plush banner swept over his heels as he abandoned his absentminded tidying and went to his meagre stores. The sun would be setting soon, it meant he could allow himself a drink or two before his meal.

Hardly a skilled brewer, the mead he had been fermenting over the past few seasons was passable. A typical alcoholic marauder, he wasn't exactly picky with his booze. Popping the stopper from the neck of the bottle with pearly white fangs, the giant settled himself before the flickering flames with a quiet sigh. Certainly wasn't a barely contained grunt as his aging joints creaked in protest, absolutely not. "You much of a drinker, stranger?" he rumbled absently, taking a short swig as he wrapped his tail around his haunches and leaned on one elbow. The flames were modest, but he didn't need a roaring blaze to heat the little alcove off of the main tunnel. "I'm sure I could spare a bottle to get you through the night.." rich vocals trailed off at the end of the sentence, leaving the invitation open. It would certainly keep her from turning into a popsicle overnight, at the very least.