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"Call me Slay," he drawled, his usual response. It pleased him a little, after all this time, to still be meeting wolves that didn't know his name. That meant his reputation had not preceded him as the Rosea's mate; he was still himself, a higher-ranking doofus who fell asleep at inopportune moments and sucked at parenting. The oddly-marked male let his ebony-daubed tail wave behind him, relaxed around the easy-going Sankor. "So you're the other stubborn lad who doesn't shift!" he crowed, finally recognizing him from the low-key meeting. It didn't matter whether he physically could not, as the case was, or whether he simply chose not to, as Slay himself did. The two of them were surrounded by two-leggers, and they remained with their noses to the ground and their tails held high. "How's it goin', mate? I tell ya, things have been hectic lately. You know anything about kids?" His ice-pale eyes inspected the Koios curiously, lightly catching his scent. He didn't appear to have a mate, so it was safe to assume he had no offspring. Alas, it seemed as though none of his friends had any advice when it came to families; Slay was one of the oldest wolves in the pack now, and still one of the least-experienced. He just wanted the orphans to grow up right, and not hate him for trying to replace their real parents, the ones that abandoned them at Cer's doorstep. He yawned widely, tired just thinking about it. |
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