Moonspear Like an old-fashioned soft meats crown

Someone he hasn't formally met would be awesome!

Dragomir careened at a gallop through the Netherwoods, hot on the fresh trail of a fox. There were many recent signs of its passing, from the winding scent trail to the occasional tuft of red fur snagged on a tree. There was no telling from here if it was worth expending energy on, but as winter drove on and the nights grew colder, Dragomir's hunger grew and grew. This was partially the result of the season, for even a sexually immature male could smell the women on the air and wonder at the stirring it provoked, but for him it was largely due to the long famine. It was time to get back to his roots: he began his life as an avid little hunter-to-be and he was eager to put his dormant skills into practice again.

He paused in a clearing to dip his head low and root through the snow. Plenty of tracks crisscrossed the area, so it took him a moment or two to locate the fox's trail again. Once he did, he was off, panting quietly and relishing the hot rush of excitement in his blood to be tracking and hunting actively.