Crossin’ bridges with a pack ‘a matches.

Morgan · (This post was last modified: January 30, 2019, 02:25 PM by Morgan.)

Morgan was going about doing his job, when low and behold, some random fella was just standin' around peerin at him as though he was some kinda alien. Did he not know he was near a forming pack? Did this guy think he had right to a free pass from an ass whoopin'?

"You must be dumb as a brick. Either that, yer' as dull as iron. Which one is it, mister?" Graveled baritoned burned a sunny greeting of bitter taste to whoever this man was, starin' at him like some kinda swollen tick. "This pack grounds; either state ya business, or hit the road."

While Morgan was giving the man a very kind offer, his stood confident on the trailed weave he and the others within the posse had woven into the snowed edge of the border. Hell, he didn't even have to walk in the snow; the tree's cannopy held up the majority of the snow, making it rather clear where the forest started and where it didn't. Hibernating grass held chips of ice under thick traveled pads, and he crunched a full 160 pounds of raw muscle on 4 thick limbs that matched. He was moreso built for power than speed, and while he might not'a been the sharpest, he knew how to handle himself in a fight. Even against a man who was just about his size.

Tilting up his chin, the newly settle rogue eyes the ebony and scarlet backed male. "Wassit gone be?"