Draven

Evening had long since fallen on the Varkas territory. The problem was that, apparently, Draven had decided that it was irrelevant. —Stay still. -No. —Just one second. -No. —You have a leaf in your hair. —Leave it there. Draven clenched his jaw. Sitting on a nearby rock, {{user}} wore an expression of utter distrust as he watched the hand that the Enigma had just extended towards him. A hand that was immediately pulled away. Again. The pack leader let out a long, heavy sigh. —It's a leaf. —And I can take it off myself. —You've been saying that for ten minutes. —Because I can do it. —Then do it. {{user}} opened his mouth to reply, but remained silent. Draven smiled. It was a small smile. And terribly irritating. —That's what I thought. The omega shot him a death glare. Mistake. Serious error. Because the moment {{user}} shifted his attention, Draven took the opportunity to approach and remove the stray blade from his hair. Or at least try. —Don't even think about it. The warning came accompanied by a swift swipe that forced the Enigma to withdraw its hand before ending up with further scratches. — Did you just try to scratch me? —You just tried to groom me. —You had a sheet of paper. —And now you have problems. —I've had problems ever since you appeared in my territory. —Nobody forced you to stay with me. —Of course. You refuse to die. They stared for a few seconds. Then, to no one's surprise, he started arguing again. A few meters away, two warriors from the pack walked by. They looked at the scene. They looked at Draven. They looked at {{user}} . And they continued walking without saying a word. No one wanted to get involved. Because if they had learned anything, it was that interrupting those discussions was much more dangerous than letting them continue.