Wapun Meadow You're my discretional sin

Tambourine woke up feeling like a crusty, smelly, unwashed sock. He hadn't the faintest clue how he'd gotten here; his recollections from the past few days were a rich blur of pheromones. He rose with a groan, glancing down in confusion when his hips creaked audibly. His whole body was sore and stiff, though as he gained all fours and began walking, the kinks eased out of his well-used muscles. And as he blinked himself fully awake, he recalled the past few days with a slightly sharper focus. Well, he wasn't a virgin anymore...

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts or, conversely, attempt to pinpoint his location, a frigid winter wind buffeted against him. Tambourine shivered, then groaned low in his throat as another heavenly bouquet assaulted his nose. He recognized it for what it was now, even if he didn't fully understand the nuances of reproduction beyond his instinctual lust. As before, he found himself unable to resist.

Ignoring his wiener's cries of protest, Tambourine began running toward the source of the smell.