Deepwood Weald you waiting at ho[m]e for me saying what time do you call this?

<3

[table width=85%][tr][td]

His ears swiveled to the sides only to cup forth, alert, atop the regal curve of his skull as she snapped twigs, and rustled the shrubbery of the Weald she led him through. Unconcerned about his lack of proper knowledge of the territory he followed her blindly. She left her trail in the earth too, in recently marred earth, uprooted soil beneath the green ferns that partially concealed it, aiding her scent in pointing him in her direction like a map. Her song rose, nearer, the gangster deduced as her trail took a sharp turn that had him back tracking, he realized. His steps slowed, fiery gaze sweeping the area as his ears slicked back to rest at half mast atop his skull. Unfamiliar with the Weald and ignorant of Lotte's well concealed hiding place he paused in full, though Lotte bound out of her hiding place before disappointment and uncertainty could settle.

Arturo's fiery, red-orange gaze, like embers set aflame took her in greedily, drinking in her scent as he drew nearer to her, this time deigning to be more gangster than gentleman as he sought to steal a touch of his muzzle to her's, and if she further allowed it, a draw of his tongue against her jaw in a stolen kiss. It had been too long since they'd last seen one another and the Ceannasach sought to with a burning desperateness to make his intentions known before another swooped in and stole from him whatever chance he had. He did not like to linger, to let precious time tick by. “Lotte,” He drew in her name in greeting, the deep, accented, smoky timbre of his voice low, hushed though there was (presumably) no one around them for miles.

[/td][/tr][/table]