This seemed like his kind of guy, laid-back and friendly. Slay had been known to be uncomfortable around males, particularly those older or of a higher rank than him. He and Sankor seemed to be on equal footing, though, and going by the cheerful grin on the mahogany-furred wolf's muzzle, they would probably get along just fine.
"I see! Well met, Sankor. I don't see what the big deal about tottering around on two spindly legs is, anyway. I'd rather be on all fours, where we wolves belong." He grinned in return, white-tipped ears perked forward with interest. It was a little rare to find a wolf physically incapable of transforming, but not unheard of. Stubborn mules like Slay, who simply refused to try it, were a rarer breed of idiot.
"I sleep a lot," he joked, although the truth was there beneath his light words. He avoided social gatherings because being narcoleptic was a shameful condition; to fall asleep in the middle of one's conversations, only to wake up later alone later, uncertain of what happened afterwards... Cercelee was really the only one who appeared unfazed by his sleeping sickness. She would always patiently wait for him to wake up again, since they first met in the flower meadow before forming the pack, and her persistence with him was one of the things he had fallen head-over-heels for. Not many pretty young lasses were willing to put up with his antics.
"I've also been busy lately - I guess you haven't heard? Cer and I adopted her cousin's kids, five of 'em. They're smart, and they're old enough to go out and about on their own, but I'd like to look out for them all the same. Thing is, they barely speak English...!" He shook his broad muzzle ruefully, frustrated as always by the language barrier. He couldn't give up on them, not after he'd promised to try his best, but he didn't know a single word of German. How could they communicate?
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
