His head lowers and he scents her, sneezing out a snort when the chilled mountain smell tickled the roof of his nasal cavity. It was the bite of frost, the damp scent of caves. He is a beast of open places and leafy forests, but he is best in grassy expanses with rabbits fleet and pronghorn abundant. Tall grass, short grass, open blue skies. He craves it and the land beside Enocra proved uplifting.
He watches how she responds, how she lowers her lip and how she does not seem in the least bit concerned about a strange face, strange scent. It endears her – in some small way – to the wanderer. To be seen as average, one of the norm. It is a feeling he has not recognized since leaving his home-pack. Ivory eyes fixate and the small whine seems to inspire a whirlwind of motion that stands his fur on end just out of the start given to his heart. He lets out a barking sound that translates his surprise into sound. It’s a barking, rolling to a growling, rolling to a yip – and despite it all she winds up between his feet and his tail goes up in an instinctual protection and warning sign that she not press him…
His mouth waters, his belly churns and he must swallow back as a longue runs the mound of his chin and into the pit recessed between his jawlines. His ears twist to the sides and a groans deep, twisting his muzzle hard towards his chest to sniff her with a slight wag to his tail.
His poise relaxes as she lays onto her paws and his nose is made to follow her. Hackles lower as the mind is brought to something against the ground, forcing the primal mind out of defense and into curiosity. Scenting the earth does not mentally utilize the portion of the brain meant for defense, it is to seek information. It is representation mentally and she guides him out of wary and into interest.
He runs his nose from nose to tail, investigating with the barest lowering of his tail. Then he snorts, grunts, and presses to the back of her scruff with the front of his teeth, a chastisement for her potentially unintentional begging before he stands and moves to grasp her scruff. Fondness is in his body language – the attempt to bring her to her home and safety solidified if she but stayed still enough to be helped.
A YOUNG BROTHER OF POMPEII AND HAWTHORNE
the wild man
six - no imprint - no pack - no mate
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