god give me style and give me grace

Razekiel Lykoi · 11-09-2011, 05:51 PM

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"Ah, but you misunderstand, my friend," the coyote smiled, scratching beneath Lark's chin a moment before stepping to meet Saluce and plopping down cross-legged in front of the unshifted knight. Pulling a thick dreadlock from its drifting place over his eyes, the Seiryu shrugged and smiled with delight and the gratefulness of a comrade meeting with an old friend. "Ichika's not 'submissive,' man; we're just not out looking to ruffle hairs and stir up bad mojo, you know? We exist here in peace. A sanctuary."

He took a patient puff from his joint, straw-hued eyes wandering the frost-tinted landscape as he thought back to his discussion with Ralla months before and the worries he'd heard of the southern 'wars' drifting their ways. "That is not to say we would not defend ourselves if we were attacked, man," he said finally, blowing smoke through his teeth. "Family protects family. Our lives come first, Saluce, that's how it'll always be, but if we can stay safe and secure in the first place, man, then we've got nobody to fight, yeah? We use the time growing ourselves, uniting with each other, man, instead of fighting and brawling."

It seemed a naive concept, and even Razekiel knew this, evidenced by the small chuckle at his words' end. He leaned and scratched his ass. "We don't have too many warriors," he considered aloud, laying on Saluce both a knowing look, then dipped his head. "Restless spirits do not find as much solace here as the rest. Unfortunate — warriors are the most who need to find peace."

Allowing for a pause, Razekiel then rolled his shoulders and straightened up. "What brings you back, man? You probably wanted Nayru, yeah?"

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