Northstar Vale jump around in froggy style

@Saena

He shifted where he lay - in a small hollow in the ground, next to a well-chewed femur and an ear from the pack's latest kill. He groaned. He could not get comfortable. He had never known such fullness, and had eaten well beyond capacity. He was certain that some of that moose's flesh was sitting in his chest.

In the days following his acceptance, it had become apparent to him that this pack was fundamentally a pack of good wolves. There was a familial atmosphere that he had not known before, a feeling of safety and comfort that was foreign to him. Still, the corsair would not, could not, drop his guard entirely. It was in his blood as a survivor of adversity. But...

He sat upright, his eyes roaming over the wolves, his crew. Most were resting for now. Peaceful. He stretched out his forelegs, gradually sliding to his distended stomach, but then he quickly flipped himself over onto his back. His forepaws were folded above his chest, and his back legs were spread. The sky had an unobstructed view of all that made him, him. He exhaled in relief. Ahhhhhh.... This was comfort. This was not a position he dared chance for long before, but here and now, he allowed himself to enjoy it.

As the season wore on, Saena's moods went through replaying loops. Sometimes she was aggressive, sometimes she was down, and sometimes she was downright giddy. She knew it was just the winter season, having been through it before, but still, she wished at times it would stop. She'd never been a particularly stable individual, but she at least had a constant mood before. Now, it felt like she could wake up on any side of the bed at any time, and the unpredictability was wearing.

Today was a good day, though. Today, Saena was giddy and playful. She'd goaded Dagfinn into several rounds of jaw sparring, and even tried to press Tryphon into a game of chase, though the pack's proverbial Eeyore hadn't taken her up on it. She'd spent a little time with Indra chasing a bunny through the trees, and returned to the pack with nothing to show for it. Warbone was too stoic currently for her mood and was still in the phase of showing disinterest in her, so she sought out someone else. Someone fresh and new.

Dragon had been with the pack only a short time, but in that time, she came to know he was a bit of a glutton and yet a proficient hunter. She would, in time, add him to her team of hunters that ranged far and wide in the pack's vicinity in search of food. But right now, the blue-grey pirate was sprawled out on the snow, and Saena approached very quickly, almost feline in her behaviour, as she jabbed out a paw to poke him playfully in the ribs.

Perhaps he had relaxed a bit too much. The normally wary Dragon was caught off guard as his alpha jabbed him in the ribs, and with a snarl he snapped to his feet with frightening speed and faced her, fangs bared and his coat naught but a cape of daggers. But this spectacle of defensive savagery was extremely brief; only so long as it took for his sharp eyes to find Saena. In the very next moment he was folding his ears back and averting his gaze, his expression distinctly apologetic as he flattened his fur and hooked his tail around his heels.

Nothing about her poke had warranted that reaction, but it was exactly that: a reaction. His distrust and defensiveness was so ingrained it was almost a second instinct. He came from a coast where most touches were nothing short of aggressive and one had to be quick to stay alive.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that. Guess I thought you were going to eat me," he quipped, offering a sheepish smile.

Saena sprang back nearly as quickly as Dragon found his feet—that was simply their nature. Wolves were curious little buggers, but they were also very quick, and it proved true here. Dragon took on the aspect of a porcupine as his hackles shifted and pricked and he bared his teeth, and Saena was quick to follow, but hers was a threat display whereas his was, presumably, a fear display. She pressed her lips tight and peeled them back over yellowing canines and took a menacing step forward, with hackles flared and body stiff. Whether it was because of her display or because he remembered himself, Dragon backed down quickly. Saena was slower to relax—her hackles drifted downward and she sheathed her teeth, but her face remained firm and unimpressed.

She was the leader. If she wanted to mount him and piss on his balls from behind, she had the right to do that. Saena was not the kind of wolf to tote around her leadership like a banner above her head, and thought of those wolves as terribly arrogant, but she would do it if she had to. That was what her face suggested.

His explanation made enough sense that she backed down, though. "That's ridiculous," she chided him. She was, of course, jumping to conclusions as she always did. Saena truly knew very little about Dragon's past and upbringing, and found his violent response rather inappropriate. She didn't know the whole story, though, so could she really be blamed for that? "We're pack. Why would you even think such a thing?" She'd wanted to play, but maybe, she thought, Dragon had a stick stuffed so far up his tight asshole that it poked his stomach and made him crabby.

Oh, she was not happy, and she scolded him for his reasoning. Dragon, who had already offered his apologies and kept himself lowered in deference, now grinned stupidly at her, his tail thumping the ground. For there was a twisted part of the corsair that enjoyed getting into trouble, and thrived on such attentions. There was some thrill in flirting with another wolf's limits, and seeing how far he could go, in seeing the rise of fur and the baring of teeth. In that way he was a wolf of peculiar contrast; the rational survivor, and the reckless antagonist. Of course, he had not meant to provoke her this time, but he rolled with it.

"Where I'm from," he started, as he sank into the snow, scuffing himself along the ground as he kicked and pulled himself toward her. "Everyone was starving, and sometimes looked at you as the next meal." Close to her now, beneath her thin muzzle, he lifted a paw and... playfully, rascally... shoved it into the side of her face. In the same motion he twisted to fully onto his back, exposing his white belly and flicking is tongue out as if to lick her... you know, if he could reach. But he couldn't.