Dawnlark Plains don't call [m]e grimgram

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: sex.  (That escalated quickly.)

Grimalkin wasn't a tenderfoot by any stretch of the imagination.  His gait was still clean, easy, and efficient, and his nose and ears were still good enough to get by.  Maybe his teeth were cracked and yellowed, and maybe he couldn't run as fast for as long as he used to, but these things didn't trouble him.  He'd been a middle-ranking wolf all his life and he didn't harbor any illusions of grandeur about leaving a legacy behind.  He was here to have a good time -- one that didn't involve baggage of any kind.  Leaving the pack had been his first step, and though they'd protested, something about, "oh, Aries, you shouldn't be alone," or, "oh, Ramskull, what're we gonna do without you," he'd gently let them go.

Only, it was kind of lonely out here.

The day was pleasantly hot.  Grim had shed his winter coat and was lean and svelte, a modest layer of fat overlaid across his rangy muscles.  His lips drew back as he began to pant, tongue lolling as he ambled through the plains, blithely scattering wildlife as he went.  As he walked he sang a song, sidestepping jauntily and walking backwards and forwards as he pleased.

"Eyes that look like heaven,
lips like cherry wine,
that girl can sure 'nough make my little light shine.
I get a funny feelin'
up and down my spine
'cause I know that my Elvira's mine."