Ghost Lion Crag passed the harley, dukie on the ducati

though her word choice was pretty defensive, it was delivered casually and with a cute lil laugh. this gave speedy a big ole bonus point in tegan's book. any gal who could take a punch was good to him, especially if she had a lil spice too-- and this gal seemed to have both.

"dope," was tegan's thoughtful response, "nomad?" i'm proud of tegan for using that word instead of something far less intelligent. nomads were cool in his book, they were like, the ultimate scout. just fuckin goin an doin whatever they wanted to wherever they wanted to. but, truthfully, as much as tegan hated responsibility and as set as he was on calling his family a bunch of lame bois-- tegan could never leave. he loved em too much-- and secretly he liked having a little bit of a job as the packs ***best*** scout and ambassador. someones gotta do it.

then he nodded. "a lil west of here, big ole plateau, my packs called the redhawks," he explained to her, ears giving a quick lil flick, "i'm just out exploring, mapping nearby territories and all that jazz."