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Macbeth could understand - Bloodclan weren't the nicest thought - but he would never feel the way Sylmae did. He had never had children, and didn't feel the bond yet. He had felt the need to protect others, but never the need to protect your own flesh and blood.
Turning back to Mae, the male smiled, making eye contact. A sudden blush formed across his face as he had a thought, but he knew he would have to say it.
"Mae... would you c-consider this dinner as... as a d-date?" the normally confident wolfhound stammered.
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Macbeth had decided to not get involved below, but was sat on top of a castle wall with a large rack of face paint bombs beside him. Noticing some Blizzardclanners beginning to arrive, he readied one in his paw. Noticing that Sweetophelia wasn't being attacked, he flung one at her.
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Macbeth blushed once more, gently nudging the female. He didn't quite know what to say next, but... the silence was comfortable - at least for him.
They soon reached Glamis, and servants ushered them in out of the rain, taking their cloaks and hurrying them into a private room. It was still fairly big, but contained a simple wooden table and six chairs. In Scotland, this room had been used for war planning, or quiet meals with his wards.
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//macbeth is gonna be a traitor just you wait
Macbeth grinned as the paint splashed both Twistedpaw - it wasn't the intention, but his reaction was hilarious. He spotted Mae down below, and called her name, chucking a paint bomb at her so she could use it in self defence.
In a horrible moment of realisation, it dawned on Macbeth that the paint would explode.
All. Over. Mae.
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macbo omg it sounds like what the french call macdonalds
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Macbeth gestured for Mae to take a seat, before calling over a servant. He had a brief conversation with them, almost silent, before nodding, patting the other dog on the shoulder and watching them head off with a large grin. Macbeth wasn't one to abuse his servants, but he would let them know their place if they became too confident. "He says there's venison or boar, with vegetables," he answered, jerking his head back to show that he was referencing the servant.
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Macbeth noticeably winced as the paint splattered on Mae, turning her pelt a navy blue. This was embarassing. He mouthed an apology down to her.
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