Great Scott

A wry smile tugged at his lips and Amos cast a glance at himself as though suddenly concerned. "I suppose it'd be better to be in shape than just a shape," he joked, grinning like a fool. His multi-colored eyes shimmered with amusement, though he supposed it was a somewhat serious issue. Not that he was slacking himself; Amos was diligent at least when it came to patrols and hunting occasionally to make up for any lack of prey they might occasionally experience.

His eyes drifted back to the lemmings briefly as Gwen went on. After a moment of thought he nodded and replied, "Well, trouble-making does seem to have been the best part of being a pup." How his parents survived having three unruly boys - well, two, since Torryn was never really in on it - he would never know. Kids seemed pretty overwhelming to try and keep track of, cute as they were he was still fairly certain he'd be in over his head trying to keep tabs on a litter. Hell, he admired Gwen for keeping up with her kids. "Well," he said, moving into a bow for a moment to stretch before righting himself and giving Gwen a few wags of his tail, "I know I'm not terribly busy at the moment, but if you need to deliver those I might go looking for something to eat myself soon," he said, glancing at the lemmings once more. Of course if she wasn't in a rush he was happy to continue chatting. Amos would never try to hide his love of a good conversation. Idle chatter or important talks, didn't really matter what the content was, he just liked to interact with others.