Honeyed Pasture [m] Moonflower

glad to have you! (sorry hanze isn't)

The ravenness appraised him, then fearlessly crossed the waters to greet him more intimately. Though taken aback by the forwardness, Hanze awaited her eagerly, his tail waving in the air like a finish line flag – his posture inviting though tense with anticipation. He presented himself like a proper show dog ready for Westminster, her scent caressing his muzzle. She had come to his other side now, and he turned to meet her cosmos-blue eyes, sparing a glance for her sleek, silver-veiled spine…

He was startled from his dreamstate by a sudden splash, his reactive snarl drowned out by a mouthful of spitted water straight to his face. With a disgusted noise, Hanze leaped backwards, shaking his head fiercely. Dampened, both physically and emotionally, he stared daggers at the interloper, finding a plentitude of him to glare at.

Watch it, you fucking sow! he seethed, gritting his teeth. Out of sheer embarrassment he began to see red. His rage and sense of self-preservation warred with one another, and if no placation came, he would almost definitely lose his shit.