Danger had tried, he really did, but there was only so much awkward silence the poor socially retarded brute could handle before his choices were either "leave" or "collapse into a gibbering puddle on the ground." As he so often did when conversations lulled, Danger chose to ditch. There was just something about standing around other wolves that made the shadowy brute's flesh CRAWL with discomfort--as if his skin were trying to escape off his very bones. He knew that Summer was a King to be respected, and he personally had nothing against Misty or the female stranger that had wandered into the territory a few moons ago, but . . . yeah. Maybe there was no excuse for walking silently away like a bored lurch. Maybe he should have made more of an effort.

. . . Nah.

Judging by the pleasant heat warming the boy's onyx pelt, Danger knew it was the afternoon. Or close enough. Once the seasons started to change, he had to slowly adjust his inner clock--the stupid sun hanging out too long in the sky always messed him up a little. A drawn-out yawn dragged lazily from the smoky soldier's maw. "Ugh. I should eat. I really, really should eat . . ."

Luckily, hunting had never been too much for Danger to handle on his own. It was a task he'd been more or less forced to take on alone, when the wolves of his pack had written him off as a mistake from the time he'd opened his malformed eyes. Focused on all his other hyper-developed senses, Danger slunk quietly down the whispering halls of Bright Moon; his large ears strained forward to capture every minute sound; careful paws took soft, swishing steps to test the ground and pick up vibrations; his nose transformed a complex network of scents into a readable map. He had resolved to spend the better part of the day just finding a trail to follow--when the cacophony of rustling twigs snagged his attention.

Instantly Danger launched into a sprint, sure that the noise was caused by some rabbit trying to escape a thicket. If so--easy meal! Unfortunately, as soon as the midnight gentleman came closer, he found the perfume of a packmate: Misty. A female. His stomach plummeted through the center of the earth.

Danger's fear of women came second only to . . . well, nothing. Faes terrified him. With their judgmental voices and scathing comments and mean pranks . . . shudder. The sweetly scented femora had been thrashing so much she must not have noticed Danger's entrance. That meant, so long as he was sneaky, he could just slither away and pretend he had never noticed. Wait--hold on. The ebony draco snapped out of his own insecurity long enough to catch Misty's harsh breathing and her high yips of pain as she dragged--dragged?!--herself across the forest floor. She had been the one splintering branches and scuffing up dead leaves like a panicked fawn. Something was up.

"Um . . . Misty?" Thank gods Danger had been blessed with a low, monotone voice; it was impossible to audibly detect the anxiety currently wrenching his guts when he constantly sounded bored. He could hear her lungs start to pull in air more forcefully, as if each breath were a struggle, while her tongue rasped against her muzzle. What the hell? Though his heart felt as if it would explode, Danger dared to shuffle closer. A hiss of pain escaped from between his teeth as his trod too close to the thorns that had evidently ensnared Misty not two minutes before, horrid wooden claws snagging on his legs. He gestured vaguely in the she-wolf's direction, a frown wrinkling his snout. "Need any help?"