To a room with some lace and paper flowers

Reaper noticed how amused the woman seemed to be by the bird. To which, his maws twisted up in a large awkward grin. “I seem to attract such friends, yes.” He told her. Black birds such as raven and vultures, were the sacred animals of the God of Death in his homeland. Zarren. Who also happened to be his great great great grandfather. He felt warm at this reminder. His God's had not forsaken him, even if this new land the connection seemed somewhat there.

“I could never speak before.” He admittedly with a hint of shyness, his grin fading into a soft smile. “I used to write to communicate.” He told her with some pride. He had to be a good writer in order to be heard, so he learned it much faster than his siblings did. This was such an odd place.tl grant him the ability to speak. The woman suggested magic, to which the thought definitely intrigued him.

Then, finally came the girl's name. Mae. “Mae.” He spoke out loud, committing the name and scent to memory. When it came to his own signature scent being washed off from the ocean, he could only feel annoyed at best. He didn't want to smell the thing that nearly killed him. He wanted his cologne back. He took a mental note to find the nearest dead thing and promptly bathe in it when he could. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” he responded with a slight dip of his head.

Mae asked about the raven's name. Reaper hummed lowly, thinking of one. “Moloch. His name is Moloch.” He replied to her. The bird cawed in approval and landed promptly on a branch nearby. When she asked about exploring together, Reaper perked up noticeably. He gave an enthusiastic nod of his head. “That would be a lovely idea.” He replied. In terms of his first day, it was shaping up to be rather pleasant. “We seem to be in the southern region of the continent. It was winter back home, so it should be winter now.” He noted out loud as he began to walk, taking in his surroundings. It was still warm and sunny here for winter. He knew logically the more north they went, the colder it would get.

He turned to her and flicked his green striped tail. Tilting his head ever slightly, he spoke. “Did you want to stay in the southern region of this land, Mae? I'm quite keen on exploring myself.” He gave her plenty of time to reply before letting out a longing sigh. “I've never lived without my family. My pack. I'm not a hunter. I was a sentinel back home. So I'm afraid my survival skills are not the best equipped when it comes to providing food for myself.” He explained, almost regretting the choice of never learning to fully hunt for himself. In Seether, each branch was specialized to their own doing. He was a crafter first, creating beautiful jewelry and art from the dead. Then he changed ranks to sentinel, a warrior, as he wanted to make his father proud.

Perhaps he was speaking too much. But he couldn't help that he was in such great company. It felt nice to be understood and welcomed in the continent with friendly arms. Reaper thought he had lucked out. He disliked the idea of running into wolves who were less friendly. He could defend himself, he always had been able to, but generally avoided it if he could.