Shivershade

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EIGHT - NONE; HEART - NONE; SOUL - NONE

He had given up on crafting his old den to perfection, at least for the day. No trespassers had come within a few miles of him despite his desire that they do so. It would have been nice to find someone to press into servitude for a short while so that he could lie about and enjoy his day doing.. well, nothing. Such is the way of Shivershade. He is a brawny male, bulky in all the right spots and substantially large compared to many of the other wolves. It was a genetic trait that was quite prized by the male for his size meant that he had the fortitude to get whatever he wanted. Not to mention his disposition didn't leave much leeway for failure. Shivershade got what he wanted regardless of who he took it from. That had made him enemies in life. Did it matter to him? No. They did not bother him because they knew they could not. So he moves away from the woodlands with a predators grace, shoulders rising and falling with his head tilted between his legs and nostrils flaring at different scents.

Winter was around the corner and with it came the urging of his loins. Last winter had been a fruitful one for he had found many to mate with to ease the pressure of his desire. They had not been suitable companions for Shivershade but he had not been looking for one. He was a loner, a grump, and why would he wish to take care of a female? They were fragile creatures that were demanding. I need this, I want that, well get it yourself, he thinks with an inward smile that quickly turns to a grimace as the suns rays strike across his thick figure.

He hated this transition from summer to fall to winter. His coat was always too thick too early and shed too late. There was never a fine line and already it had begun to thicken so that he grew increasingly hot and uncomfortable during the day. He heads south now sticking close to the treeline and whatever shade was afforded to him, pausing when a rabbit is flushed from a small hole he had overlooked. With a snarl he continues on, annoyed at himself for having missed the treat, but that snarl dissipates as a call rises.

Slowly he turns in that direction, tawny paws carrying him resolutely forward until he is near the grotto where he spies a misshapen male with two females lingering around. His chocolate eyes flash when he spies the females, the yellow vibrant against his iris as he watches them with a predatory gleam, tongue creasing his lips for a moment before he glances at the male with mild annoyance. Did the man need to be put out of his misery? He certainly seemed like it. "I hope your call means you have some food ready," he says in a deep rumbling timbre, eyes narrowed.