Northstar Vale yeah, i know i never shoulda took you home

it takes poet a moment to realize he is not alone, that the woman he can see approaching isn't just a trick of the dense fog. but when he draws in a breath to gather her scent, it is obvious she is not a trick of the weather. the lingering of her sweet scent, mingled with the musk of men that do not stick strong, draws poet to his paws like a hand tucked beneath his chin coaxing him.

though in his mind, he knows he is logically not old enough to sire cubs, he is still tempted by the scent all the same; thinning as it perhaps was.

howdy, the saint-forge calls out to her after offering a small chuff of greeting, ghosting towards her a step in an effort to more clearly make her out — unaware that there was another woman nearby.