 He does not abide by the unspoken laws that govern the Commons - that a simple nip could claim another as his own. Those who have chosen to live with him in the Prairie do so by their own free will. He likes to think that this is why peace reigns in the northernmost reaches of Luthien.
He feels her tension as he rests beside her - recognizing the delicate push and pull and how easily the thread that holds her near could snap.
“You always have a choice, Riesling.” he returns coolly, unruffled by her sharpness. “Even if another were to mark you as theirs,” he says, looking her up and down as if to indicate that he had not yet done so,
“you could fight or run.” A breath’s pause, and then he says “Although, you’d do best to recover some strength first.” It is a statement of fact, spoken plainly.
Another mouthful of grass.
“My home is The Prairie on Luthien. There is grass as far as the eye can see in any direction.” He rests a hind leg, his hip dropped, and his tail swishing lazily. “It isn’t much for trees, admittedly.” He says with a smile, though there is a tinge of melancholy in it. “If you so choose, you may come with me and rest there until you are recovered.” He looks about the Commons, but he knows he does not have to tell her that she won’t likely find a kinder offer here.
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