Foul Play
03-17-2014, 08:17 PM
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Fell from a cliff, never broke a bone Tearing at his fur, the brute pulled wads of the stuff from his pelt and flung them into the wind, leaving a trail of tufts behind him. Every couple of steps he'd pause and yank a mouthful free, and spend the next couple of steps trying to get the fur out of his mouth before repeating the process. Really, he looked mangy. Why his coat was choosing now instead of spring to rid itself of the extra insulation was beyond him, but it made him itchy. He did not like the taste of his own fur. The sun beat down on him mercilessly and only served to increase his frantic plucking. Honestly, it was like he was pulling the feathers off a bird, only with much less reward. Pausing with his mouth full of hair, the brute's head lifted as the scent of another reached his dry, fur-crusted nose. He spit the mass out, and, having made up his mind, headed for the rogue. The sight that greeted him made Sucre pause. Two white wolves, some distance apart, were flecked with mud and standing in puddles. For a moment he wondered if he was seeing a reflection, but the silly notion was quickly abandoned as differences began to stand out. Still, he couldn't help but feel like an odd duck. "What is this? Some kind of exclusive puddle jumping club?" |
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