Firefly Glen sailed out of harwich

Upon hearing the eruption of birds from the surrounding trees, the wolf sighed and slumped in to the soil as if his energy had taken flight as well. He sat there for a second in a positively livid state of mind - grumbling to himself, cursing, and moaning softly due to the pressure that had built up in his thick skull. Once the pity party was over (minutes later) he let out one last slurred comment and then tried to get up. His rear end came up first, positioning him in a strange pseudo- play bow of sorts, long tail arched over his back for a moment before it limply dropped across his hocks. As the wolf began to steady himself for another attempt at "upright-ness", he heard movement in the green — and a chuff — which prompted him to hurry along with the process.

He was on his feet in seconds, shooting daggers at the silhouette as he found it, and rather roughly declared, Oi there, ya dung muncher! Ripper ay'll give ya a new meanin' fer that name if ya get any clo—ohhh, he'd taken a few lurching steps towards Hydra with the belief it was his best mate, but obviously concluded otherwise when he got a look at her. Aye, ye ain't my pal Rip! Where you be from, then? Lurkin's all well an' good if'n yer a rat-faced slumlord, but yer a sight fer sore eyes! Pretty thing, hidin' in the forest — The more he spoke, the more he swayed, and soon he was reclining out of necessity as all that green (and the young woman before him) began to shift and sway with his vertigo.