Porcupine Ridge katakan

"have no illusions, dear finch," he mused; sweet, sheltered finch; "such a life is not one of ease. you, in particular, would not be accustomed to it." stigmata was under no impression that she would be good at constant travel - at the rigorous life that he saw for himself - and he was otherwise incapable of forging a chance to be painfully "honest". in reality, stigmata was being fairly guarded with himself these days, having been recently scorned and forcibly learned on a hard lesson about settling.

he wouldn't settle for just anyone's company these days. mahler had set an impossibly high standard for anyone who followed, and finch was... eager, he supposed.

stigmata hadn't lost his patience in all the time he'd wasted withering away in the peon ranks. he would give any wolf a chance, though there was likely to be only one given and the flaxen rapunzel at his side was already skating thin ice; making the probability of her turning out to actually be worth something about fifty-fifty at that moment. he decided he needed to know more, if he was going to pursue keeping her around.

he paused suddenly, catching a fresh scent of porcupine on the breeze: a smell he hadn't come across in several years. not since driving all of them out of the peaks in his youth. it had been a long and difficult process that had started before he was born and taken well over a year for the sandraudiga clan - but it was an effort that proved rewarding once the pack no longer had any quill causalities among them. his tail lifted high and wagged, remembering the wild excitement of back then.

"do you know that smell?" the warhunter asked quietly, turning his regal muzzle towards the aurous sylph.