Porcupine Ridge helped wanted

The Spaniard has been traversing the maze of calloused tunnels, the occasional crystal would catch his eye; he’s very observant and can see the beauty in this world over the horror–at the right times of course. 

His heavy paws carry him down a tunnel possibly a little too sketchy for a wolf his size; the space is a tight fit but after a bit of squeezing and sucking in he’s able to make it through. In this exact moment he can hear another soul tiptoeing through these sacred grounds of a place usually devoid of life. 

His ruined ears perk up, the tag still clipped to his ear bothers every time he moves it, so his eyes narrow in mild irritation, but still a smile begins creeping onto his face. Perhaps it’s an opportunity for some fun; oh how he loves fun. So he continues on, ensuring his own footsteps make no sound, he reaches the main cave. The crystal clear, sky blue water reflects beautifully onto the ceiling of the limestone infested cave. What he sees is another wolf; fair in size but still smaller than he. The thick fur is of a color he’s never seen before, so vibrant and unique. Makes him want to blemish it, perhaps take a few chunks out. 

He decides to announce himself with a low chuckle that echoes throughout the cave and bounces off his own ears. God he loves the sound of his own voice. “And who are you?” He asks slyly, accent rich and unmistakable, teeth on display in a sinister smirk.

He casually sidles closer head held high and posture confident. Santi’s ghost white eyes pierce the other as he stares obnoxiously. He only wants to mess with them, he doesn’t always feel like killing.