Fairspell Meadow Nature's Juicebox

Really? 

The wolf couldn’t believe he let himself he invaded like that, without the slightest clue. How long had he been staring at the hole anyway? Did he zone out or something? 

He felt something cold and wet on his paw when he turned his head. In the time he’d been sitting still, a considerable rope of drool had formed in the corner of his muzzle, almost touching the ground. It’d broken off halfway and was now laying across the top of his front paw, frothy, and disgusting. 

He quickly licked his lips, severing any remaining ropes. Cleared his throat. 

He was a little displeased with the female, which would be evident in his intentional lack of enthusiasm, which he tried his best to exaggerate to a manner that some may consider parody. Flat ears, still tail, narrowed eyes. The blank stare was there regardless, but fitting for once. 

”Was,” he started, now turning back to the hole. ”Probly ain’t comin’ back out on account of all the noise.” 

Her noise, he wanted to add. Not his. 

Realistically he knew he was in no shape to win a chase against an animal—a fox, no less. And especially not in the heat of the sun. Not with his thick coat.