09-13-2009, 10:19 PM
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At times it seemed like he did nothing but sleep, eat, and exercise. His routines were rigorous at minimum--it wasn't unlikely for him to run at least five to ten miles a day in each of his three forms, and, during the warmer months, to swim maybe a third of that. By now the days were growing noticeably shorter, though the temperatures were still relatively warm. Anselm was remarkably indifferent to the changing seasons--even if he could not increase his endurance by swimming against the current or the tide, he could always charge ahead and plow through the snow, which was arguably just as exhausting. The sit-ups, pull-ups, and sparring could be done the same regardless of the weather. If anything, one of his favourite routines--running up and down the mountain, balancing on the rocky precipices and navigating the steep slopes--became more of a challenge. The air was already thinned due to the elevation, and in the winter it seemed even worse.
For now, though, he could move easily and focus on his footing instead of a deficiency of oxygen. This day he opted for the smallest of his quadruped forms. It was rare to encounter anybody this far north, though the last time he'd been passing through he had stumbled upon his granddaughter. Today, it seemed, he would find somebody new. A strange scent caught his attention at once, and immediately he was perplexed because he could not place it. It smelled of neither wolf, coyote, or dog, and yet it smelled distinctly canine. Fox? No... Not quite. Frowning slightly, the golden hybrid wove his way through the tall grasses--for once, he felt decently camouflaged. Unfortunately for him, his target held the same advantage. By dumb luck alone, he spotted a mottled figure up ahead in the distance.
He loped easily up the hill and approached her from the left--he couldn't quite tell if she was looking at him or not. When he got to the top, though, he was certainly surprised. The female was rather petite, and her coat was unlike any he'd ever seen before in his life. It was splotchy, a patchwork of brown, black, and white--it seemed almost as if someone had thrown cans of paint on her. The illusion was enhanced by the shortness of her fur; she seemed sleek and smooth, rather than furry and ... squishy? Meanwhile, her ears were just as bizarre. They were rounded, not pointy, not even the floppy kind of pointy that the collies had. For probably the first time ever, he was simply at a loss for words. His gut instinct was to ask a snarky What are you?, but something held him back: she held an exotic beauty, and he didn't wish to offend her. Unfortunately, standing around gawking probably wasn't helping his case.
MOR. How long has it been since we RP'd? D: -Clingsto.-
At times it seemed like he did nothing but sleep, eat, and exercise. His routines were rigorous at minimum--it wasn't unlikely for him to run at least five to ten miles a day in each of his three forms, and, during the warmer months, to swim maybe a third of that. By now the days were growing noticeably shorter, though the temperatures were still relatively warm. Anselm was remarkably indifferent to the changing seasons--even if he could not increase his endurance by swimming against the current or the tide, he could always charge ahead and plow through the snow, which was arguably just as exhausting. The sit-ups, pull-ups, and sparring could be done the same regardless of the weather. If anything, one of his favourite routines--running up and down the mountain, balancing on the rocky precipices and navigating the steep slopes--became more of a challenge. The air was already thinned due to the elevation, and in the winter it seemed even worse.
For now, though, he could move easily and focus on his footing instead of a deficiency of oxygen. This day he opted for the smallest of his quadruped forms. It was rare to encounter anybody this far north, though the last time he'd been passing through he had stumbled upon his granddaughter. Today, it seemed, he would find somebody new. A strange scent caught his attention at once, and immediately he was perplexed because he could not place it. It smelled of neither wolf, coyote, or dog, and yet it smelled distinctly canine. Fox? No... Not quite. Frowning slightly, the golden hybrid wove his way through the tall grasses--for once, he felt decently camouflaged. Unfortunately for him, his target held the same advantage. By dumb luck alone, he spotted a mottled figure up ahead in the distance.
He loped easily up the hill and approached her from the left--he couldn't quite tell if she was looking at him or not. When he got to the top, though, he was certainly surprised. The female was rather petite, and her coat was unlike any he'd ever seen before in his life. It was splotchy, a patchwork of brown, black, and white--it seemed almost as if someone had thrown cans of paint on her. The illusion was enhanced by the shortness of her fur; she seemed sleek and smooth, rather than furry and ... squishy? Meanwhile, her ears were just as bizarre. They were rounded, not pointy, not even the floppy kind of pointy that the collies had. For probably the first time ever, he was simply at a loss for words. His gut instinct was to ask a snarky What are you?, but something held him back: she held an exotic beauty, and he didn't wish to offend her. Unfortunately, standing around gawking probably wasn't helping his case.
MOR. How long has it been since we RP'd? D: -Clingsto.-