Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

The smaller gives a cheeky reply, to which Donovan can relate to. Then the slithering onyx man closes the distance between them interestingly. This doesn’t escape the mutt’s tentative shimmering hues; rather an excitement trickles down his spine at the sly nature of this stranger.

So as the male slows, Donovan twins his speed, staying beside the other as he watches that singular glowing eye flutter along the horizon and a narrow snout rise skyward. A interesting assumption by the coy is made and then he’s asking for his name. The poke of teeth worry shining white fangs and then that eye is turned once more upon his own. 

Donovan follows the motion with his eyes and at the others teasing smirk Donovan chuckles. It’s a smooth and enticing noise, resonating from deep within his breast. “Donovan.” He dips his head inquisitively towards the coy. “Yours?” Then as he cranes his head the coy’s scent fills his nose more than it already was. He’s a pack wolf. At this new discovery, Donovan’s smirk remains. “You’re a pack wolf, no?” He asks lowly, almost teasingly.