Mudminnow River so far away

he lifted his gaze again, incredulous. the fur on his hind-side twitched and nearly bristled under curious investigation. 

with a roll of his broad shoulders, he grunted. "depends on what kinda work, stranger." dolce was no stranger to arduous labor, the kind that made bones ache at the end of each day. while he's older now, he still welcomes that ache. misses it. 

standing, he turns to face the man. "y'lookin' to hire me? i don't run with no gangs, no more." he paused, considering. he didn't run with gangs...but could he fit into a pack? it was so foreign, structured rules and hierarchy. in his gang, respect and standing was earned with blood, scars, violence. "but i'm listenin'."