Tuktu Weir nothing like a big bad bridge

ravinger has always been in the business of doing what he wants when he wants to.  a hedonist to a fault, he has decided that in his family's new home, he will be turning over exactly zero new leaves.  currently, he's trailing mindlessly after henryk, a wolf he isn't yet welcome with.  all that matters is that he's good-looking and not related to ravinger.  this alone is cause for the wayward bard to follow the recent pledge.  

the stink of beavers greets him rather swiftly, and a grimace crawls across his boyish features. "disgusting," he gripes childishly, a forward glance at henryk's retreating form being the only persuasion he needs to proceed.  now, ravinger has seen beavers.  he knows what they are; he's familiar with them.  however, he has never been a fan.  they smell rancid, and their tails and giant teeth just give him the creeps.  so, imagine his surprise when he realizes that the object of his attraction has settled down to... watch them.  he sighs, inwardly remarking on the heinous acts he does for pretty faces.

"nasty things," ravinger barks his cool greeting to henryk as he joins him in the brush. "about as interesting as watching fur dry." another melodramatic exhale follows, and he plops down on his hindquarters to accompany henryk, unannounced. "you're new. new faces are good. i get tired of looking at the same faces all the time." never mind that he's related to exactly 99.9% of them.