Tuktu Weir confessions of a sociopath

*wave* keeping things vague til mato thread is further along

he is on a southward trend, from the dusty mote to the noisy bog. mato's image still rings fresh in his mind, tindömé or was it - tindómë, yes, that. a pack that values skilled work - surely to his benefit, his delicate body and sharp mind an asset in a more intellectual sense than physical, despite his petulant tongue. 

delight's traveled a bit, aimless beyond his downward movement, and he thinks this might be the best location of the ones he's surveyed so far. no chattering insects or allergen-infested air - just a lot of beavers. he thinks that's what they are; he hasn't met with one before. there's something more in the air, though, the smell of wolf, and distantly, wolves. carefully he draws himself against the shadows of the forest, not wishing to be caught out if the presence is unfriendly. ah, and there they are by the edge of the lake, an imposing figure. there's something noble in the lines of his figure. delight does not think he looks.. hostile but he also doesn't look relaxed. it would probably not be good to take him off-guard - and oh, so rarely it seems does he get the chance to bring himself forward in a properly diginified way. the wisp puffs up just-slightly, careful to avoid accidental displays of dominance, and moves forward with a soft chuff.