Alpine Lake sans

So focused has he been on his restless trailing of these wolves that he's forgotten to breathe. He only realizes it when a woman appears—gorgeous, hurting, just his type—that he looses a gusty exhale, ribs shuddering with the sound. He fixes his gaze on her striking hawkish eyes, and allows the vulpine grin to return to his face.

Oh, I come in need of friends, cherie, Donatien responds. Of allies, of comrades. Do you think your ranks have a place for me?

Before she can answer, or he can blather on further, a monstrous man appears. He's large as the sun (or so it seems) and carries himself with all that weight; striped and regal and massive— The du Pont finds himself bending a slight knee to this king, all while his mouth forms his usual glib retort.

You do, indeed. And I suppose you are the master of this place, of these wolves?

The woman is not forgotten.....well, no. That's wrong. She is forgotten, eclipsed by the other.

But she is not to blame. Who could be? 

He is immense.