Shadewood Everdream

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Morgan had been the ever most vigilant, only being able to be pried away from his girl's side because she had snapped a good many times on his ass telling him he was making her hot, stifling her in their den. So the rider took himself outside to patrol, marking wherever anyone else hadn’t, refreshing what he came across that hadn’t been.

Happening upon a soft calling at the Eastern front moreover by Tesoro Glade, Morgan made quick work of the distance as auds told him where to go. It was then he happened across a woman who stood respectfully outside of their piss-fence, and he tipped his head to her politely. Finally, somebody who what was what. “Gud mornin’ madam,” the gruff southwesterner offered her. “What can I do you for?”

Golden champagnes looked over the light woody woman. She almost reminded him of Roxanne, the way she had those pretty bright blues to match with a pale and sand body. But Roxanne has more black inked over her back, a slight saddle which Morgan had enjoyed riding back in their rompin days. He himself was a giant mass of earthen hued muscle, 160 lbs of wolf power that told tales of hard times and good eating all at once. Hardened but healthy. 
And all over him was Vetty’s smell, as she didn’t exactly want him gone that much. 

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