ACANTHUS
...you've wasted all your time!
For a moment, the lad simply lay there, until the scent of wolf filled his nose; though it was not his mother's perfume. Hope fled, and the semi-dream ends, bringing him to the present. Hot coals find the blue of the male, this demanding the white bastard gives. Does he not know? Cant is a sly dog, and he lowers himself to the ground, black ears moving back against his skull, though he does not roll. It is a rattle-like sound, a hiss and a whisper, then it builds into higher pitch. The lower vocals vibrate and he lets loose a puppy-like snarl, his lips wrinkling as he remained on his belly, fired-up determination in his hot gaze.
”Get up, Mother!”
male ;; minor ;; not a lover ;; never mastered ;; homeless
son of Cayen & Kahlua; apprentice of no one
scream, scream, scream