The other Drykas doubled over with a sudden roar, causing the hunter to wonder if the man was about to explode, and, if so, whether or not it would behoove him to vacate the area.
Wait, he was laughing? That seemed just as confusing. The wild Drykas blinked in surprise, then tilted his head. He perceived nothing amusing about the situation; did that mean that something had escaped his notice? Cautiously the hunter looked around, in case such a stunningly funny occurrence had come to be outside of his line of vision. He found nothing.
Still, the amusement meant that the irritation was gone; that much was good. At least, that was what he assumed. He couldn’t be too certain where humans were concerned.
Then the Syren did something very strange, indeed: he relaxed. The hunter blinked at him, wondering what exactly he was doing. His pose was not one of submission, so much as it was just… calm. Prepared. The hunter looked back and forth between the two men, unsure of what to do; the threat seemed to have vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. People were strange.
A loud bark encroached on his awareness, and he turned to see a dog barreling towards them. Though it was obviously aggressive, he couldn’t help but feel a small bit of relief; a dog, at least, would be easy to read. Animals didn’t toss up the strange facades and pretends that people did; they always displayed exactly what they felt. Why couldn’t these two men do that?
The hunter’s guard switched to face the dog, and this time he bared his teeth to the fullest. He wasn’t particularly frightened of the canine—he had taken on much greater beasts than she—but her message was clear: do not threaten my human. In response, the hunter turned his shoulder directly towards her, putting the Syren slightly behind him in a dismissive position. He then let his lips veil his teeth once more in his own clear message: I do not threaten your human.
And then he turned and half-bared his teeth at the other Drykas once more: he, however, is fair game.
Wait, he was laughing? That seemed just as confusing. The wild Drykas blinked in surprise, then tilted his head. He perceived nothing amusing about the situation; did that mean that something had escaped his notice? Cautiously the hunter looked around, in case such a stunningly funny occurrence had come to be outside of his line of vision. He found nothing.
Still, the amusement meant that the irritation was gone; that much was good. At least, that was what he assumed. He couldn’t be too certain where humans were concerned.
Then the Syren did something very strange, indeed: he relaxed. The hunter blinked at him, wondering what exactly he was doing. His pose was not one of submission, so much as it was just… calm. Prepared. The hunter looked back and forth between the two men, unsure of what to do; the threat seemed to have vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. People were strange.
A loud bark encroached on his awareness, and he turned to see a dog barreling towards them. Though it was obviously aggressive, he couldn’t help but feel a small bit of relief; a dog, at least, would be easy to read. Animals didn’t toss up the strange facades and pretends that people did; they always displayed exactly what they felt. Why couldn’t these two men do that?
The hunter’s guard switched to face the dog, and this time he bared his teeth to the fullest. He wasn’t particularly frightened of the canine—he had taken on much greater beasts than she—but her message was clear: do not threaten my human. In response, the hunter turned his shoulder directly towards her, putting the Syren slightly behind him in a dismissive position. He then let his lips veil his teeth once more in his own clear message: I do not threaten your human.
And then he turned and half-bared his teeth at the other Drykas once more: he, however, is fair game.