Moonspear I think I maybe think too much

The Dotharan felt an itch in his paws that was familiar to him; the need to run. He was still unused to these stationary packs, carving out only a sliver of what was avaliable to them to live in. There was so much land to run in, and yet he was practically bound to the pack's lands. He huffed, trotting quickly, leaving a trail of pale smoke from his heavy breath.

Occasionally the masked-male would burst into a dash, but he felt limited by the rocks and sloping land. He cursed, slowing to a halt, muttering to himself, all but ignoring the female nearby. She'd probably think he was crazy.