Porcupine Ridge leshen

a warm tremble reared along the length of his long spine as he watched her approach. the warhound noted the buoyancy in her step, and knew that her adrenaline was not all the way spent, driving him to consider terrible ways in which to tire her - wounds be damned. stigmata remained still, however, watching her with a mixture of rapture and suspicion.

his lip curled as the damp leathers of her nose touched his shoulder; the muscles twitching sensitively as he pulled away from her slightly. but her crooning soothed him, and her careful, gentle insistence calmed him further until he had hunkered into his position, allowing her to clean his wound. an act typically reserved for closer wolves, the ironwraith was surprised at the nearness but not disagreeable to it. she had proved herself more than capable, cautious, and amenable - she smelled to be healthy and of breeding age - giving stigmata little to no reason to want to refuse her. if anything, it was pertinent that he have her.

to her comment, he eyed her slyly, his expression sharpening to a devilish point. "i will show you to them," he rumbled coyly; voice low and magnetizing. "but what kind of wolf would i be, if i allowed your temptations to stray?" it was rhetorical in nature, and he didn't seem to look at her for an answer. rather, he turned his muzzle away - a sign of trust as he (at last) stopped hawking over her - looking in the direction of his wolves, and he said softly, onto the wind: "may i ask your name?"