Golden Glade Those who are welcome

Bobbing his head, Pritmor fights to not make use of the tools in his mouth to bite at his leg. He was in the open. He was present. He was thinking of turning around. Biting his lip, Pritmor covers his eyes. "I'm moving, I'm moving. Shoo doubts" Slooshing of water attracts the male to mark it as the finish line in his little journey to branch out among his peers. At the stream, he will spin on his pads and strut to his quaint spot. Eventually standing at the edge, he shrugged. "Well, I made an effort. Oh well" He exhales with a smile, not noticing a female was there within range of his voice.