King of the Jerks arrives
Not long after he had broken up the whimpering, another scent crept into his nose. Anatole looked to see a dark woman on two legs approaching. He snorted bullishly, as if her accusation offended him. After all, he wasn’t the one whining about breaking someone’s heart. Frankly, it was downright pathetic. The bulky wolf stayed where he was as the woman neared the building and rolled his eyes, again, at the display of emotion. Had the south really made men this soft?
Flicking one ear dismissively, the scout settled onto his haunches. He needed to learn about these people if he was going to serve any purpose here. Even if they were all crybabies. “Anatole. I’m a scout. You’re not from here, are you?” It was a sharp question, one echoed by the unfriendliness in his eyes. Already he had decided this man was no more than a whimpering pup, and it certainly befit a land that had allowed his cousin, of all people, to lead them. Perhaps the war hadn’t been as terrible as everyone made it out to be.
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