Soon her time would be over. And she would return to Moonspear. To her family. Until then, the fire that raged within her still burned. Sending her into a frenzy, the likes of which would never end until her innate desire was satisfied. 

Spring was indeed in the air all around her. The wide open meadow grew bright with golden, lush grasses once again. Distant herds trickled back in, attracted by the good grazing. 

Elentari ignored the prospect of such a meal. Her hunger was not the kind that meat would satisfy. But a drink... 
Now that was different. Her throat was parched, as if her own heat had crept up her throat and scorched her. Several of the crystal clear, cool streams beckoned her close. A stark shape of midnight in a sea of gold, she knelt low, sipping while her scent entwined with the grasses.

Keen eyes spotted the dark figure as they scanned the surrounding grasses. He was following a scent – that scent – and his curiosity for its originator could not be immediately dismissed. Hanze felt it was almost out of his control that he approach her.

With his own dark coat summoning attention like a beacon, he came to stand downstream of her, on the opposite bank. He looked at her across the water, muzzle lifted in a cursory attempt to gauge her reception to his presence in the area.

She was no longer alone. Downstream at the opposite bank, there was a dark imperfection in the reflection of the water. It was as if she had almost looked through a mirror.

Drawing her head up, water droplets clung to the whiskers on her chin like scattered, miniature stars. He was pleasing to the eye. Soot furred, accented in bands of silver. Could he fulfill her desires? There was only one way to see if he may be deemed worthy.

Tail held loftily above her spine to flaunt her confidence and her swirling hormonal appetite, she crossed the waterway to meet him. Coming on solid ground, her approach was forward and bold. She offered no words. Only a deep intensity in the blue of her eyes. She would take his scent, scrutinize him intimately.

Two wolves made eyes at one another from across a stream. Perhaps they were destined to cross paths, their slim, muscular bodies twining together in nature’s most sensual dance. Maybe their magnificent genes would combine to create the most perfect offspring, championing the theory of natural selection.

Enter: Meatball. Breathing like a winded hippopotamus, he pounded onto the scene and cannon-balled into the water right in between the pair of strangers. When he came up for air, he spat a fountain of water at the male (very handsome, super sleek), then turned to the female (a solid nine) with his tongue lolling from his mouth.

Smoothly slicking back his wet ears with a hammy fist, he said, How you doin’?

The ravenness appraised him, then fearlessly crossed the waters to greet him more intimately. Though taken aback by the forwardness, Hanze awaited her eagerly, his tail waving in the air like a finish line flag – his posture inviting though tense with anticipation. He presented himself like a proper show dog ready for Westminster, her scent caressing his muzzle. She had come to his other side now, and he turned to meet her cosmos-blue eyes, sparing a glance for her sleek, silver-veiled spine…

He was startled from his dreamstate by a sudden splash, his reactive snarl drowned out by a mouthful of spitted water straight to his face. With a disgusted noise, Hanze leaped backwards, shaking his head fiercely. Dampened, both physically and emotionally, he stared daggers at the interloper, finding a plentitude of him to glare at.

Watch it, you fucking sow! he seethed, gritting his teeth. Out of sheer embarrassment he began to see red. His rage and sense of self-preservation warred with one another, and if no placation came, he would almost definitely lose his shit.

Just as she was about to take another step to pull up close to Hanze, she was cut short. A great splash of cold water exploded in front of her. Courtesy of the dive bomb from a very, very large rotund wolf. Her would be partner was gracelessly spat in the face. Like being blasted with a water gun.

Wide eyed with shock, she felt frozen momentarily. Not quite sure how to respond to this roly poly strangers attempt at a charming introduction. Did her scent draw him here too? She wouldn't be surprised. But if he wanted in on the action, he would have to prove himself a worthy candidate. And contend with Hanze.

The odds weren't looking good. She snorted, flashing a single tooth while her first suitor wasn't at all shy about voicing his ire.

Neither one of them seemed won over by his cheesy pickup line, though he wasn’t surprised by that, nor the cruel epithet that escaped the other guy’s mouth. It hurt him -- remarks like that always did, no matter how often they were slung his way -- yet Meatball hid the pain behind bravado and comedy.

Gaze shifting between one irate face and another, he held up both dripping paws in a placating gesture as he said, Awww, hey, I was just trying to have some fun! Good looks are great and all, Meatball continued, gesturing at the male before glancing at the toothsome woman, but don’t you want your children to inherit a winsome personality?

He unleashed his most charming smile. Yes, it was tucked in between two chubby cheeks set below a pair of piggy eyes. But he had a huge heart (literally) and Meatball wanted to think such things could be inherited. She could pick Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome and surely pop out some model kids -- who were prone to calling people things like fucking sows. But in the event she wanted cherubic comedians instead, she could always choose Meatball!

Hanze flared indignantly at the male’s insinuation. That’s real rich, buddy. A low growl sounded. Spitting on me then calling it a WiNsOmE pErSoNaLiTy, he mocked his voice childishly. Surely, she can smell the fox dung this guy’s spewing. His eyes cut sharply to the woman at his side, expecting to see disgust towards this wily walrus…

Instead, he saw interest. Interest!

She would allow this unserious, pot-bellied, fountain Cupid to compete for her? There was a chance she would choose this cheeky Casanova, and not the actual high-quality man at her side? Revulsion curled like a snake in his belly. He took offense to the very notion that this wolf was at all comparable to himself. The insulted, repulsed, thoroughly butthurt disturbed Hanze snorted and turned from them both, quickly storming away.

(And unfortunately for this little incel, he was presently incapable of reflecting on how his unnatural pride had taken such firm precedence over his natural desire to procreate. His pecker does not thank him.)

The pudge ball of a wolf tried to plead his case. That any pups he might sire would be blessed with a winning personality. The Archer snorted softly, contemplative. This was apparently, when her first would be suitor had enough. Not willing to compete and risk being outdone by a wolf he deemed unfit.

Elentari watched him go. Any interest she had in him waned. He may have been a fine specimen, but his attitude left much to be desired. She would not risk her future children inheriting such a salty disposition. Not in her Archer bloodline. And certainly not in Moonspear.

That left Meatball. She contemplated him. Sure, he had charm and wit. But that was about all. She shuddered to think of what popping out a child of his would feel like. Even worse, she feared she very well may be squished if she let him close. In the end, she just couldn't look past his chub factor. 

With a disinterested sigh, she turned away to vanish into the distance. She already had Alaric and Chakliux as potential fathers. Both men were the picture of good genes, with personalities that won many a wolf over. And for her, that was enough.