Lone Star Mountain belonging to the night

It was quite the curse to be trapped in the hulking body of a warrior male with a violent instinct. But Noctura had no real problem with being in this body — he didn't feel uncomfortable in it, or that he should instead be walking around with a smaller form. He was who he was on the outside, and as a lone wolf had discovered that his considerable brawn always came in handy. It was the vicious instinct he could do without. If he could somehow learn to control himself in a pack environment and dip his head to an Alpha, he could put aside his loner's life once and for all.

But he had long given up hoping for such a thing. He would be a sojourner until he died, he was sure of it.

When a stranger made herself known to him, Noctura was tempted to ignore her and walk on by, but he paused — because she was beautiful. A dangerously fragile creature with a young one's face and fur as dark as his, she was immediately enchanting. The brute halted elegantly, one great paw still hovering in mid-air as if undecided. That surprises me, he replied quietly. His voice was very deep and had an English accent. But yes, I am a traveller. I'll hazard a guess that you're not one yourself.

Eep, phone-posting. @___@ I may have to learn how to do that some time soon.