Rhys.

Male.

Young Adult of 3 years.

Rhys is a picture of perfection, coming from clean heritage and flawless bloodlines, carrying the looks of a full blooded kalak. He's got rusty auburn fur like raging fire, charcoal socks reaching midway up his legs, and the same inky color covering his muzzle and a thick mane on his neck extending a few inches past his shoulder blades. His tail is dipped in pristine white, as is his throat. He is long and lanky, very slender and fragile. He is quite the handsome fellow.

Rhys is a player. A whore. A charmer. Whatever you may call him. He knows how to use his words, and plays his card with a wonderful poker face. He knows how to draw them in, so he can get what he wants. To spread his seed. Eventually the rude bastard might settle down with somebody of his own kind to produce clean lines of his own, but until then, he's going to be a rude little slut.