Greatwater Lake all lit up and i start to s[m]ile

When there was not a single snarl or screech rising against him in protest, Tarantula took the invitation (or rather the lack of a refusal) and strode forward, slowing the closer he came. They seemed to be as much strangers to one another as he was to them, which caused his own posture to loosen in readiness to acquaint himself with both.

His tail lifted, undaunted and waving, inviting their eyes to scrutinize him for any defects, deformities, imperfections. They would find none, he knew. For his coat was full, his body in its prime, and he thrived alone in the winter, making him all the more eligible for steep competition.

And though he was prepared to compete for the one whose scent drew him in, he did not know he would have to compete against another she-wolf. He tipped his head at the dark wolf’s sudden aggression, wary but not overly concerned. Certainly she was just put off at having her own investigation delayed, but he thought they could share. His ears pressed forward, and he looked towards the titaness behind her. Was this acceptable to her?

He held fast to see if the nightwolf would continue as she was; he was patient, he could wait his turn. But as that scent continued to flood his nostrils, the male felt a virile stirring in his gut and soon made to circle around the blood-marked wolf, careful to never turn his back to her. He angled himself to meet the young umber queen head-on, wishing to examine the true object of his desire up close and fearlessly.