Hideaway Strath a catastrophe of ingredients

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The sound of a jocund woof broke the relative silence that had cocooned the little lion as he aims to take in unexplored territory of the Strath with observant eyes. In fact, he is so focused on mapping the relatively new sights that he gives a start. Ears slick back to his skull and does not hesitate to spin around and lets out a low warning growl as his hybrid milky and glacial gaze falls upon the stranger. For a split second, Roarke does not remember that he is smol and hardly the rapacious Spinesplitter he fancies himself to be. The winter’s bane is not yet so fearsome. Despite that winter’s bane pulls himself up to full height he is reminded that he is a pudgy fluff ball but does not keep the truth from holding his ground. It is a grand illusion the young tundrian will see to reality. Someday.

There is nothing in her posture that says she poses a threat and Roarke’s hostile nature relaxes a bit. He pads closer to her, tail wagging behind him like a banner of a victorious army, weary of her for the moment. He takes the liberty of sniffing her when he is close enough, picking up the strong scent of Teaghlaigh — and others he does not recognize — but she is apart of The Family, he deduces. The agouti woman’s woof has initiated play and he is tempted to release his characteristic roar and play attack her (as wrestling is his favorite thing to play) but remembers Arturo’s push in formalities lately. The coywolf is beginning to sound like a broken record but at least it aids Roarke in remembering that introductions come first. He takes a few steps back and cants his head back to look up at her, studying her. “I’m Roar,” He introduces himself with a lopsided, charming grin, tail wagging in an amiable manner now that he has assessed her for himself. “Wanna wrestle?” And before he lets her get in a breath edgewise he adds, “Or ‘splore?” in a rapid fire manner that articulates the speed of his thoughts. It does not even occur to him that she may drag him back to the rendezvous den or to his father for the lesson he has skipped out on.