[he's beautiful, truly. Olivine's gaze follows every inch of him as it comes into view, breath held as light shimmers pitch to red, dangerous and powerful. larger than ever, somehow, and oh. that makes saliva pool on his tongue, as he turns to face Sylvain, his horns small and curved (especially in comparison).

the redhead steps—prowls—toward him and that breath finally escapes, his prey looking far too eager.]

You were keeping your distance for so long, how could I not? [should he be stepping toward the obvious dragon-man? maybe not, but he is.] I almost couldn't even smell you for so long... it wasn't fair, you know? It's even worse than the last time in the Vale.