Hoshor Plains everyone's tea and the receipts

Donovan passes through the plains, shimmering eyes flicking every which way, he’s looking for something to eat. Something big hopefully, though hunting in the plains means that if he can see his prey, his prey can see him. More work really. Though it doesn’t deter him, he’s a massive man, heavy muscle cording through his body — a symbol of strength in his pack, he is the Grandmaster of the Saints and he carries himself as such. Head held high and proud he pads through the area, forever scouting for something that will peak his interest. Something that can date his undying curiosity he’s been cursed with. 

Then as he steps up a rolling hill his eyes stop, just as his body does. They land on another wolf probably only a healthy few meters from him. Honey gold never leave the black of their pelt and if the other hasn’t seen him already Donovan announces himself.

“Hello.” He hums in an interested greeting. His tail is curled high over his hips and he’s sauntering over to them. Unable to stop the the smile that consorts his face handsomely he continues raking his golden eyes over him until he meets his own. “Now, who are you?” Comes his first question of the day. It rolls off of his tongue in a deep, yet smooth baritone.