The trees grow high around his shoulders, even higher around his head. Poser is over the moon with it. Poser is in love with the very idea of taking his home back, but he sleeps among the aspen trees on these nights. There are intruders in his home, and their numbers are far too great to return and bang the doors down. He hates it. The shadow hates it so, so much. There is something that cuts so badly. It's as if he's had his heart removed once more. Running through the woods, head high, eyes bright. Poser is ready for the picking up of someone. Someone he can pick up, someone else he can add to the club. Someone he could take on with his own club. A man. By the old gods, he misses having someone to sleep beside. Poser aches for it so badly, as he's so empty. A low howl in his chest. Someone had to be out here. Someone had to do it. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

Gryphon, true to his nature and to habits established far to the north, had expanded his patrols beyond the boundaries of the pack's new lands. He needed to familiarize himself with this unfamiliar continent and it's unusual prey animals, but he was also protective, paranoid, and too smart to think that simply patrolling the borders would catch threats early enough to be stopped.

He'd found himself in a pretty enough little area of aspen trees with a creek nearby. He studied the creek with interest, noting the dams that clogged it. Beavers. He wondered if there was some way of catching them. Between their ability to swim and their fierce rodent teeth he thought they'd probably make formidable opponents, but he was certainly willing to try. They could use a population reduction anyway to judge by the flooding that the summer heat was only just reducing.

A low, odd howl caught his keen ears, and Gryphon lifted his muzzle to stare intently into the trees until he could see movement. He was both intrigued and disturbed by the creature he saw there. Clearly canine, but like no wolf, coyote, or fox he'd ever seen. Green eyes narrowed intently upon the racing creature, he moved to step into its way, and then braced himself for a possible impact if it failed to stop in time.

He'd rather hit the bastard. It's in his way, why would he move? Why should he give a fuck who he took out? Who he took with him? The graceful creature moves as if a force of nature. as if there was something inside him that pushed him higher than any of these wolves. All of them seemed to hul, so. Their average was far larger than he thought natural, and they were all... well, none of them were what he wanted. None, aside from the few that he had picked out for himself. The few he wanted to keep, but did such a terrible job keeping track of. Not that it mattered. Not that it ever mattered. He continues to move, to sweep forward. Of course he was unlike anything they'd ever seen. There was nothing like him here, and there wouldn't be. He refused to believe the idea that there would be at any point. That was fine. He was perfectly fucking okay with that. There was a bastard in Poser's way, and that, he was not okay with. Poser's course is only slightly altered, close enough for the weirdo to feel the breeze he left behind. "The fuck's your problem?" He does not stop. Instead he pulls a long circle, moving so he could see the creature's face when he answered. Poser's eyes roll, pace slows, but no. He would not stop. Bastard was ugly, anyway. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name