Golden Glade Can't Beat Habits

A male rubs his foreleg in circular motions for an hour today since the days he started scratching. Bugs weren't the cause as it was Pritmor's state of mind. He was guilty of avoiding his pack and he knew it, his body reacted to knowing. The runt recalls his begging to the king to be loyal and reliable. It was spoken strongly, but the following sunrise felt like all the other mornings when he was a loner. He didn't know anyone or how to approach them. Having to stay within the territory was the only thing that was new to his life.

Therefore, he hid and went silently surving without a peep from his muzzle. His skin, however, was shouting and forced Pritmor to tip toe out into visibilty. He tries at a tiny bark to give up his postion of hiding. His dried throat yammers on softly.