Shoop de whoop

Well, fucking finally. He'd meandered his way out of the battlefield after having obtained himself a couple of fights, the damned snowstorm finally clearing enough for him to stop wandering in circles. In fact, he was downright pleased to find himself on the border of a pack, because it meant he WASN'T still wandering around the same boundary-less land over and over and fucking over. He eyed the invisible boundary line and snorted, raising his head higher and prancing over to it.

Now, whatever would they do if he... just so happened to take a piss on their border marker? The Xanilov laughed aloud at the thought, a deep, booming sound that echoed back to him from the mountains in a VERY pleasing way. Ohhh he DID so like the sound of his own voice. Too bad there was a pack here. Demyan would very much enjoy wandering these little hills and shouting just to hear his voice bounce back at him. The mountain climbing would certainly keep him toned, though... he glanced down his body with a critical eye... though he'd been quite careful to keep his trim figure once he'd separated from his goody-goody brothers, so there wasn't a great deal of toning needed. His fur rippled in satisfaction.

A devilish smirk slipped onto his features, and Demyan sidled closer to the border, and he began tracing inappropriate pictures in the snow, waiting to see if a border patrol would show up so he could amuse himself taunting them. He didn't cross the border, just moved up very, very close. Not that he would turn down a fight, but he didn't feel the need to take on a whole pack at once just now so it would behoove him not to give them an excuse to call in reinforcements.