Porcupine Ridge i was listening through the wall when you met your monsters

the recreation of breaking through underbrush back and forth without much in the way of genius, porcupine-slaying breakthroughs was becoming a bit of a bore to him – each failure packed a punch of frustration that collided with the merciful tap of a freight train.

yipping, hind-end scuttling across the pine-litter like some spooked berseker, leif whirled and spun and ducked in tightly-wound circles, spanking the ground with his paws and kicking terrain up beneath him before fleeing one more time into the inner-reachings of woodland

his lighthearted scamper back was halted when the form of another wolf appeared several feet away. oddleif braked and tentatively set his legs in reverse, the mood completely inverted as he was restored to quintessential aloofness.

caught unawares his tail dropped limply between his ankles and his ears shifted with uncertainty on their static mast. lowering his head between his shoulderblades, leif jittered his ivories as a gruff growl-barking noise rumbled his throat. it was not threatening or belligerent in nature – he was not the hostile sort, but rather endlessly apprehensive and fairly so seeing as the reality of an outlier was often an unforgiving one.

circling the porcupine reservedly, the asocialite checked saena out as she "sat in the grandstand" instead of distracting the enraged bull, demonstrating no inclination whatsoever to participate. thankfully, she did not give off the energy of someone who wanted to lop his head and serve it on a silver platter to her commanding officers. her coat pure, a resemblance to albescent wave-foam possessing her entire except for the russet daubed beneath eyes he could not yet pinpoint the color of – some tropical intensity that made him feel uneasy as she looked on.

he hesitated over retreating from the scene, but was nonetheless bent on cracking this case and figuring out who or what tyrannized the stomping grounds he had so impolitely intruded upon. so, he would allow for her unproductive nearness – at least for now.

with the pretty dame clutched in his peripherals at all times, the dirty-blonde failure lowered himself to his belly and changed up his approach, army-crawling closer to the goliathan, rigged-out pinecone and nipped at the thing, blunted click-clackings of teeth punctuating each defeat.

his next technique could be nothing short of negotiation. why in fresh hell had this terrible miscarriage of biology been permitted to walk among them without a single chink in its armor?!