Totoka River cherry soul

Rather use to not having a will of his own— which was perhaps why he did not belong in the live-and-let-live atmosphere of Elysium— Teleklos accepted Moorhen's ungentle scrutiny with uncertain, encouraging flutters of his tail. Though not as tall as his breed could allow, and certainly not as brawny as Eurycrates or Anaxander, the bard was a sturdy, well-made wolf who didn't flinch while he was frisked by the coastal police.

The pale-ribbed regent stood back, letting Teleklos rise; and he shook himself, letting loose an anxious and eager whine as if he lamented being freed from the invasive closeness. He would have begged to search her as well, and be close again— as her scent was rather titillating— but her stalker was worming his way intentionally between them again, causing Teleklos to stiffen cautiously. Though eager to get to know Moorhen, he was (to a much lesser degree) interested in the agouti Driftwood as well, and felt only defensive in regards to himself. "I am Teleklos Lycurgus," he introduced formally, ears forward, and lean body edging slowly towards Driftwood with a brave and politely interested snuffling. "I have no home."