“Scratch my back, or I’ll snap your’s.”

Morgan · (This post was last modified: January 30, 2019, 12:50 PM by Morgan.)

Moseyin' through the borders, the brute was doing his best to mind the things he had already bothered with when he had caught a rumble hittin' his ears with little beacon attached. The scent hit him soon after, and once he turned to catch who made it, the beast of a bandito caught sight of a hunkered form. The smell of copper came soon enough, and initially Morgan thought whoever that was was maybe hurt. Nearing closer, however, a pair of whites come through in the harshly growing shade of the ageing evennin'.
Eyes, and teeth.
Oh, and a reddening hide.

Realization kicked his tail up, and his voice out, a roll of rockslide earthquaking across the adamant border they were near. "Aye you stop that! Ain't none a' that over here, les' you a member of this pack." Chest broad and ears erect, Morgan almost looked himself like a leader. Well hell, if he wanted to get up there in rank, he had to atleast act like it. Cry was trustin' him to do this kinda work, being the 3rd male in this posse. 'Comin' over here eatin' like ya live here; folks don't sniff 'round these parts?' he mumbled halfway to himself and halfway outloud as though he dared this ballsy muncher to say something.