—
Malakor seemed to linger around the throne longer than he really wanted. It was none other than to advance himself in the layout of this land. Any tree, any crevice. Dens. Packs. Anything that he could use to scoop up knowledge. Today?

Today was different.

He felt better. He wasn’t sure if it was the hares he plucked up on the outskirts or if he deemed a lead.

Paw carried his tall slender frame through trees, where he settled upon a small clearing. Fireborne eyes scoured the surroundings, listening to the canopy above him. Birds chirped and chattered. Insects seemed to be at rest.

The King made no effort to hide himself, he stood in the open. It wasn’t until he heard unfamiliar crunching of pawsteps— the flaps of wings carrying themselves to the canopy. Looking over his shoulder, the King searched for the source of the sound.
—

LANGUAGES;
Common

—
Someone long lost it seems. Malakor sighed, ears flattened at the sight of someone different than he expected. The maroon coated wolf turned around to face the wolf before him. Many scents lingered them.


Clearly they weren't alone.


Apologies for treading. Was chasing a familiar scent and it lead here. The King remained cautious. Anyone could be after him. Or her. They did it once, there could be no telling they'd do it again. Simply put… he needed information. Anything to scrape the ground with. What is this place?
—

LANGUAGES;
Common

—

Ravorn? What a … strange name. He supposed anyone could say the same about Gallán Tine. Malakor would shred them if they judged too harshly though. His wife was always proud if it, therefore it meant the world to him.


Establishing he stated. This.. Ravorn wasn't formed yet. Alright. Well. Malakor wasn't one to comment on it. Though he took note of it. Careful to linger close. It could mean danger if he stayed his fair share far too long. Formality.. formality. Right? This is what Perdita was best for… What does Ravorn stand for? If you don't mind me asking.


King Malakor. King Malakor of Gallán Tine. The King formally turned towards this Crane. While his illness judged, he picked up non-hostile signs. No baring of teeth, no awful remarks. So far the King rolled it off. Simply. He was not going to cause issues. Yet. Not unless they did. But on establishing pack territory would be a poor decision on his part.


Clearing his throat, I was looking for my wife. My Queen. Though the scent lingering of lavender was none other than a waste. The gods have hilarious humor I fear.

—

LANGUAGES;

Common