Slay lumbered forward, taking a seat atop a decaying tree stump. Even sitting, he was taller than Flayra; she was small for a werewolf, and he was notably large. He smiled disarmingly, hoping he didn't appear threatening in any way. He held a high rank in their pack now, not far below his mate herself. If any other border patrol came along, his presence would protect her from any sort of scrutiny. His pale gaze lingered for a moment on her bare arm - as a pup, she had concealed it beneath a sleeve of fabric, and he had never known why. Now she disguised it no longer, and he could see the cruel scars that mutilated her skin. How unfortunate, for pretty young girl to have sustained such an injury...
"It's good to see you again," he said simply, meeting her eyes again. He had always felt protective over the younger pack members, especially those without parents of their own. Flayra and Svara had both been orphaned at their doorstep, and he had extended his kindness to both girls, even though they had both deserted Dahlia de Mai as they grew up. Now that he was planning to become a parent himself, he found himself reflecting on such events; would either of them have stayed if he put forth a greater effort? Would his adopted pups have stayed longer, if he was a more active father?
It weighed heavily on him, the self-doubt. His earlier flippant mood had already been chased away by somber thoughts. Resting his chin in his wide palm, Slay spoke again. "What brings you here today? Did you need to see anyone?" His shaggy tail stirred the leaves below his tree stump, waving a lazy rhythm.