[color=Orange][h1]Falk[/h1][/color]

Feoras's reached was no end of amusement for Falk, though he was very adapt at hiding this amusement in the pleasant smirk upon his face. Falk was not known for smiling, it was a horrifying thing to see him do so. For usually it foretold a messy end to the unfortunate Fae that was so incompetent. It was the Mara King's words that stirred him with a deep anger, and offended pride. It galled him that a Mara would rule, but to rule Spring was worse. The Fall King's eyes flickered with a ghostly green of the coming storm as the Mara mentioned his Hunt and demanded a reason.

"They grow restless it is true," The Fall King drawls in his deep and hauntghy voice. A beautiful thing of darkness and deep pools untouched. Of Embers yet to be awoke and the quiet before a storm. Narrowing his gleaming orbs, his focus locked on the upstarted Mara. A predator's grace gathered about him with elegance. "But what you seem to sense is nothing more than a mortal storm above, Young King of Spring. Aye, my hunters and hounds gather in case this Moot would go south." A glance at Winter and Summer was not subtle and conveyed much of the reason as to why his huntsmen and hounds had gathered. "But if you are looking for some grand magic, I would suggest you seek elsewhere." Spreading his hand with palms open to show nothing, Falk smirked with a arrogance. "For I have yet to call my Wylde Hunt, nor would I waste their might for such a petty reason, Young Mara." The last title was a clear insult. Stripping the Spring King of rank and any age. The condescending parent to the upstart child.