Heron Lake Plateau Rivets and screws.

henlo. have an intruding & commanding af blackthorn.

ailill was late to the party but the call had risen and there was a growing amount of curiosity mixed with the most primal of instincts that the scent of estrus was awakening. the blackthorn huntsman always lived on that cusp: being a hunter was ninety percent instinct anyway but as he draws nearer — entirely oblivious to poe and her spying — the scent of another male mixing with towhee's causes ugly unrest to threaten to tear him asunder. he spies the pair, getting ready for round two and rushes in with tail raised, hackles bristled and teeth bared. he recognizes the other male from glimpses caught in patrols or hunts but no name comes to mind. ailill thinks he might be of a higher rank but even if he wasn't ...he didn't feel bad pulling rank regardless. you've had your fun, ailill draws in the only warning he's like to give. leave. ailill wanted his turn — and not for any other reason than he had a penchant for giving into instincts. leave or we fight because after sharing with eight other siblings for food and toys and bones and whatever else he had to share — he wasn't really in a sharing mood right now ( or maybe it had more to do with the intoxication of towhee's heat that he was under ); but of course that feeling could go both ways.