Golden Glade Can I put a tree down, then put Greg on the tree like some 2019 Jesus

As Quixote headed for the borders, a small golden-furred shadow trailed after him. The air was muggy and she could feel the dampness settling into her coat, but Wisteria rarely ever heeded the weather. She was an intelligent wolf, to be sure, but not for that sort of thing. She only really recognized rain before it fell when there was thunder to give it away. Now was no exception. She would be disgruntled if she was caught out in a downpour, but Quixote's swaying backside was much too interesting for her to pay even the slightest bit of attention to the sky.

To clarify: she liked his ass. It was a nice one, and she so rarely took an interest in anyone that Quixote having a nice enough rump for her to not only notice, but feel compelled to follow it around, was remarkable.

It had been such a long time since Wisteria could put aside base concerns like finding her next meal or watching her back to do something pointless like this. There was no purpose to following Quixote besides liking what she saw; as a yearling, she was prone to this sort of sudden interest. She had a cover story ready, of course. If he turned around and asked her what her problem was, she would simply claim to be patrolling as well. But if she was lucky, he wouldn't notice her and she would be able to coast along in his wake, watching him and his glorious derrière at work.