Though Vanya had been happy to reiterate to him over and over again that Drogon was not his son, Rougaru told himself that the boy was his in all ways that mattered. He was not the wolf, he did not share their blood, but there was a beast that beat beneath his breast all the same. Drogon met his approach with a warm smile that caused that on his own lips to spread. Drogon’s thick head is given a shake, as he reiterates that he was careful. Rougaru nods his own head proudly as once more his emerald gaze turns to the young mare at his side.

Vivienne he calls her. A beautiful creature that is clearly his daughter. Though she resembles her mother in the fine dish of her face and the overall sleek elegance, he can see himself there in the pale colors of her mane and the beast that sleeps. Yes. This was his daughter. A single ear flickers at Drogon as he mentions Vanya. Multifaceted eyes glance at Drogon as he nods his head but says no more on the subject. The painted gypsy was his demon to slay. His ghost to catch. What transpired between the two, however vicious and kniving, was not something he wanted to bring either Drogon or Vivienne into. He would find her later. Surely if Vivienne was in the Falls then Vanya must not be far from there. Mentally the wolf makes a note of this, wondering if he ought to spend some time combing through to commons or the meadow. She had seemed less than thrilled with being in the Peak and its colder weather when he had seen her last, so he felt almost assured that she would not be there even if it was the safest place for her. Like a pulsing vein, he can feel her warmth burning in his blood, coiling deep in his core and demanding release.

But that was another time.

Vivienne stepped forward now, extending her small muzzle towards him with a sweet smile painted upon her dark lips. He raises his brow and stretches his muscular chocolate neck forward to brush his labrums against hers. ”I am Rougaru.” he breathes, inhaling her sweet scent and tracing his muzzle up the bridge of her nose to the middle of her brow. Warmth flooded him, the nearness of his daughter was a welcome release. He hated that Vanya had robbed him of her childhood. Hated that the painted dancer kept her away this long but that did not mean that he could not make up for what was lost. At least if she wanted him too.

He draws back now, his proud head tilting as he glances first from Drogon and then back to Vivienne. ”It is true. I am your father.” he murmurs, pausing a moment before continuing on. ”Your mother left here before I could meet you. Our relationship has always been a bit… strained for lack of better words.” he finishes, that smile once more tugging his lips upward into a wide grin. ”Am I what you expected?” he asks, once more letting his inquisitive gaze meet her own, searching through the depths of her gaze for something.