Slay laughed aloud at the look on her face, the almost indignant way she snubbed the vineyard's offerings. "Probably not all of them... right away," he mused playfully, popping one between his jaws. Ahh, the sweetness was what he craved. Delicious! If only fruit was available all year round, instead of only during the end of summer. "You know, this is what wine is made out of," he added conversationally, settling down on his haunches atop the cool grass. This night might not be so lonely after all.
The hunter glanced at her furtively through his shaggy mess of a mane, trying again to place her face with a name. And failing, of course; perhaps they hadn't met after all? He had been woefully antisocial lately, a poor habit of his. He had been a loner for far too much of his life, shunning packs and families and all that nonsense. Now he was rather too old to be wandering wherever his whims carried him, and Cercelee had successfully pinned him to one place -- although if she ever decided to leave the pack behind and start a new life on her own, he knew he wouldn't hesitate to follow her. Things were probably safer here, though, despite the looming threat of Inferni or another pack war, not to mention those dratted steel traps that kept springing up around the borders. At least those kept intruders out too. At least he didn't have to worry about that brute Corvus anymore, the one who had beaten him until he passed out. He was only just getting over that...