Blackfeather Woods Making my rounds

When the eyes of his muse fell upon him, he took it as in invitation to move closer. His steps were careful, placed softly to limit noise, and did not cease until he was near enough to keep a careful eye on her. He was disappointed to have not seen her sooner, too, even though he had not outwardly shown it. "They look nice," the man commented, pulling his attention from Nemesis to Venus as he was given his gift. Never before had he seen something like it, though perhaps that was due to his homeland. There weren't exactly excess reserves of clay up north, and no one would ever think to turn them into pieces of art anyways. The focus was survival, of course, and family as well. "Thank you."

He nosed over the mint-infused clay, taken aback at first by the strong scent. It was sharp, invading his nostrils quickly and stinging his eyes, but in spite of that it was a pleasant scent. It was clean, he realized, and strangely refreshing. He was quite fond of it, and offered the female a smile to demonstrate his appreciation. The Inuit's attention, however, was pulled from her immediately as a familiar presence neared his side. His eyes snapped to her face, meeting Nemesis' gaze and then flashing her a smile. He had come to terms with his emotions, and no longer would he fight them. Whether or not his affections towards the dark woman were noticed by others of the pack, he did not care. His lack of concern towards being discreet was soon made known, too, as he pulled his muzzle away from the clay and towards her face. It was then that he touched her cheek gently, the action quick. As soon as he'd touched her, he'd pulled away—it was almost as if he were playing a game, attempting to make her flustered so that he might better gauge her feelings towards him on that particular day.