fisty cuffs

Ah, home. Not that he'd been raised here any more than he'd been raised anywhere, but they did say home was where the heart was, and for Wendigo his heart was as taken by the thrill of battle as it was any location in particular. The scent of blood and fear and fury that colored this landscape was more home to him than anywhere else, save the boneyard in the south. He hummed lightly to himself as he meandered, a smile curving his muzzle, a smile that stretched into a grin as he lifted his head to listen to a stranger calling for a fight. He shook his coat to settle it after his wandering and set his meandering way toward the call, finally setting half-slitted eyes on a similarly aged woman, as tall as him but built on lighter lines, the color of dusk and spotted like a cheetah. The only thing that really set her apart from the gathering evening shadows were the gold markings on her face and the silver eyes. Wendigo gave her an exaggerated bow, grin fixed in place and mismatched eyes holding her own. "A lovely evening for blood, and such a lovely woman to share it with," he exclaimed brightly, pouring on the charisma to the point of near-mockery.