It was a breezy afternoon. The warm wind rolled across the territory and buffeted against the red hued fur of the hybrid. He grunted, but did not wish he had worn clothes. All day he had held a hammer in his hands and all night he had dragged wood behind his tail. Spyridon was determined to have the boat finished in a couple days, but the area was still knew for him. With pads ripped and sore from work, the male decided he should have a break for it was hard to hold anything now. The brown hands were wrapped in white fabric he had found and washed in the dresser of his room in the Manor. A red streak of blood stained them from the palm.


But the coy-wolf ignored the pain and continued his journey through the forest from the beach where he had been building. Determined to find a meal before he would return to his residence, Spyridon scented the air for prey scent. Many different smells came to him, most wolves and other odors that were unfamiliar to the familiar smells of the wilderness beyond Inferni. He had traveled to long and the memories were beginning to catch up to his slowing mind.

After being escorted around like a pup by his cousin, Silas, the black pelted luperci was ready to roam on his own. The border was coming up; he was sure for the forest was thinning dramatically. Primrose had already made herself comfortable in the new territory, accepting the change of staying in one place so her companion had left her. The decision unsettled the male but he knew she would be fine. The border was in sight now and using his mind’s eye, the hybrid sought out his trail back to the Manor. There would be more luck in prey on the way back. He stopped to rest, his back against a tree and his eyes trailing the expressionless skulls that cluttered like a wall of debris.

There was a change in the wind as it raked across the male’s bare, sable shoulders. His eyes were squinted, purple irises hidden slightly by shadows. She was near; he could scent her female fragrance even before she noticed him. He could feel her skeptical gaze on him.


So it didn’t make him jump when she spoke. Voice soft like rolling hills, the female continued to speak. He was not threat to her, but certainly he could take her down if she intended to be rude, even with a raw paw. But of course he did not say these thoughts aloud. Flexing his muscles, Spyridon stood, finally catching her eye. The girl was small and slender, with fur that reminded the man of stone. Her mismatched gaze made his whiskers twitch. It was clear from her stance she was not coyote. Even though the man had a good amount of the breeding, he towered over her. Amethyst irises flickered around her frame; clearly exhausted. Spyridon relaxed.

“Intrude, not you did.”

He said in his thick accent.

“ изящный лепесток, me with you should rest,”

Voice soft, the Russian complimented her and gestured to the tree had leaned on. Spyridon was not a flirt, but he was witty and not one to be ignorant and unconvincing