He snorted in amusement at her weak joke, always fond of her awkward humor because of how rare her quips were. The warrior seemed to make an active effort to add brevity to her conversations, and since humor was his own defense mechanism, he could always appreciate it. "Certainly not, o raven-haired one," he apologized gracefully, ice-pale eyes crinkling into a smile. He had never realized before how expressive the werewolf face could be... the four-legger body language was not lost in the shift, but simply translated into subtle expressions.
As if proving his point, his eyebrows raised to register surprise at the snatch of story Cwmfen offered him. "That gathering... that was the first time? But... you were so graceful, it all seemed so natural to you! You never once looked out of place," he wondered aloud. Even with her unique gaze and exotic markings, she had seemed a fluid tendril of nature, moving amongst them as though she had always been there. Her promotion to Adonis had gone to show that the others felt the same way. Slay's white-tipped ears fell back, lost in thought. Was he merely being self-conscious, then, thinking that he looked so outlandish on two feet? Did he, too, fit in as she had... or was she better at adapting than he? He felt a little more at ease, with the warrior's musical tones reassuring him that the time had been right. He often doubted his own judgment.
His fingers brushed against his sternum, a small gesture of pain and guilt. "I know," he admitted in a hollow whisper, bowing his head. He had put his Cercelee through so much. It was always difficult with him, and she had always deserved better. But she was a stubborn young thing, and she refused to let him go, despite his sleeping sickness, his lack of ambition, his catatonic response to all things unpleasant... "I feel as though she would be happier without me, but I am too selfish to release her," he admitted privately. He had never acknowledged that hidden fear aloud before, that his mate would one day wake and realize that she no longer required him. He didn't know much of anything regarding Cwmfen's lover, or whether or not she would have any opinion on the matter, but... it felt better to get it off of his chest. He was far too possessive to ever let his mate go her own separate way, but... if she desired it, nor could he deny her.