The voice that calls for him is both known and unfamiliar and while it invites him in, it also turns him away. He can feel the ethereal prickle across his skin like sharp fingers driving him to its source, scraping delicately, pulling him closer. And although a part of him could argue to stay against Rhy’s achingly smooth throat, the echo of power in the summoner’s voice draws the titan from the golden girl’s side (he would break her innocence soon enough). “Don’t follow me,” he growls and his voice did not thrum heavily in his throat as it normally should, but lulled – as if enveloped in cotton.
“Why did you lose her in the first fucking place?” He asks, drawing up behind the bevy of mares. He would go, if only to seek some of the power that echoed in that voice.
“Why did you lose her in the first fucking place?” He asks, drawing up behind the bevy of mares. He would go, if only to seek some of the power that echoed in that voice.