Sequoia Coast you're tearing me apart, lisa

lycaon’s head hunkered like a vulture and coincided his posture, the guard-hairs furring his cape fanned out like quills. he stood rigidly to his height, ears hauled forward and his gums retracted to bare grit fangs. his tongue flicked between clenched inscisors and he gnashed them at air with the impetus of a viper strike, swallowing a glob of saliva as a growl glutted his throat in reaction to furi's brief glance and backward step. 

Ingram’s efforts toward a reconcilable outcome were noble yet ultimately for naught, as things had already escalated lightyears beyond conciliation. however, he seemed to know the char-furred aggressor, and his intervention made her leave off the berating of arrille’s passive head... at least momentarily.

the hamfisted tongue-lashing of shut up--to the beta's untaught ear--silenced the assembly. Lycaon's eyes fixated severely on Blixen. seeing white rim the bore of her gaze made a self-satisfied smirk sprint across his features. then, Kierkegaard commanded, with great gravitas, the retrieval of their heda. whoever the hell that was. somebody hit somebody!! the slow-exuding leak of adolescent testosterone begged. he could barely stem the tide of arousal convulsing on his lips.  the beta issued a stroppy chuff at the suggestion and boldly decided to fulfill the obligation instilled in him by edict of Grimnismal's hierarchy—take charge in Wylla’s absence. what would Wylla the Wild and Wicked do in this situation? and was there ever a moment more perfect than this to arbitrate such a decision? probably. actually, yeah. it would have served him better to practice in the mirror first. 

of course, when it came to liasing with the pecking order under Wylla's iron fist ….it was like the blind leading the blind. hormone-immersed brains in upper-management generally consequented in hormonal responses to friction (as Gram-the-man had discovered in divers areas of his life). Kierkegaard’s levelheaded motion made complete sense if you were sympathetic to the cause of avoiding rivalry between residents, however, if you could peer behind the eyes and into the brain of a sixteen year old boy, the only transaction taking place would be between puberty and logic coming to the grand sum of a negative balance in common sense.

”oh got it. so, let spunk bubble here run back home real quick to gather the troops. ok. cool. coo’-coo’-cool.” he rolled his shoulders, casting a casual, half-lidded glance at Ingram. "cause here i was, being diplomatic, considering only busting a few of your nuts.” his eyes pinged around each of the Drageda wolves’ faces, then landed deliberately on Blixen. 

he let his proverbial finger slowly and casually mash down the detonate button. ”hard to be a diplomat to a bunch of hormonal women, though.”