Dragoncrest Cliffs "I'll take this dance."

And in his brooding, he thinks about all the women here. Aure, Blackbear, Heda, to name of few. But he knows there are more because he smells them. Shifting wretchedly upon his throne, he delivers a pent-up sigh. Could it be there's action going on behind the scenes? He hopes so. Pups are essential to any pack, large or small.

Too bad he won't be having any this year.

Crunch, crunch, crunch draws his ired regard. A...wolf, he assumes, nearing with his head in the clouds. What is he looking at? Natjuk quells the urge to announce himself, transfixed by the youth's languid stride. Whatever has garnered his undivided attention makes him trip and stumble. When he turns those doleful eyes upon him with a delicate "hey," Natjuk sourly thinks: why couldn't I have come across a chick? Instead, he has to interact with a kid whose balls have yet to drop...

Okay, okay. That's not fair. And this is a pack mate. At least try to be nice.

Hey yourself. Okay. He's trying. Upon further inspection, this amalgamation of wolf and coyote is looking rough around the edges. What did he get into? Natjuk visibly softens, eyeing the wounds on his face. Are you okay?