Phantom Hollow and she's only one dance away

mini mansions

As time progressed, in an unexpected manner, so did the male's desire to get more active and, maybe in an attempt to cover, or lamely make up for the time he had carelessly lost by chasing girls' tails and then mourning for some. He did not want to waste any more time in petty things such as seeking who did not want to be sought, or having regrets. The bullshit he had commited, and had thought of commiting himself to, in the past had been tucked away inside his mother's coffin. With her sad endind he had not only decided to have a new beginning, but also to have a stronger come back.
Even if since joining the Teekon Wilds life and luck had seemed to have greeted him like a punch in the groin, Finn was ready to swing back.

During those sad, mournful nights under the dying stars and the birthing rays of light Finn had come to a counclusion --  a simple and firm veredict that would stand beside his incomprehensible view on the opposite gender. For once and for all Finn had reached the light to the enigma.
Girls were death.
Or in other words, death was a girl.

If they were not out there torturing a poor man with their roundabout answers and implicit --yet undecipherable-- mind games, they were scurring in the night, using their bright eyes and sensuality to manipulate and control whoever crossed their path into, what could only be described as an early grave.
Because even if their poisonous kisses and promises did not suffocate you instantly, slowly, like a corrosive acid that eats away the strongrest metal, their ambitious hunger for attention and recognition was destined, programmed even, to sooner or later suck the life out of you.

And so, with his tail flicking behind him like a giant middle finger to the landscapes and critters he left behind, the silver rocketdog was out for trouble.
He would not die today that was sure, and he would not let death, as pretty as she was, catch him.
There is no woman worth dying for in this world, he huffed silently as he meshed with the dark shadows and crooked silhouettes that made up the Hollow. 

Delilah didn't know exactly how she managed to end up head-deep in a foreign pack's territory, but she did. She knew because she could smell it. The scents in her air changed from wonderful, fresh forest smells to the pungent odour of pack, and all the wolves that existed in this region. She felt like she had waded into a river of smell, her own outsider scent standing out like a sore thumb in the current of pack and wolf smell.

She looked around uncertainly, unsure of which way to go. She couldn't trust her nose anymore, there was too much pack smell masking the scents of the forest outside, and she was completely and utterly lost so she couldn't trust her eyes either. Was she trespassing? She didn't know.

A flash of platinum caught her eyes, and she turned around to glimpse at a lithe young wolf, not much younger than she, with startling grey fur wading through the trees. The pack smell wafted strongly off him, she surmised that he must be from this area. He carried himself with an air of confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going. Delilah couldn't deny that he was handsome.

"Ho, there!" She called after him, hoping to catch his attention before he walked away completely and left her to her own devices again.