warrant a name

[Jefferson Soul]

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wc245 For whatever reason, the sarcastic old gimp was more than grateful for some dry space. He followed the white-trimmed female with his limp uncharacteristically and unintentionally quickened (and thus, more of a hassle to walk upon). The warmth and dry air were an instant relief as he limped in from the rain, taking only a brief moment to wrestle the rainwater from his pelt before stumbling a step or two to the wall and collapsing there onto his stomach. Green eye disappeared briefly and jowls clamped, awaiting for the biting pain within his leg to subside from the sudden overuse. "Thanks," he panted grimly and heaved an exhausted sigh. He hated when questions about his life arose; the beaten up hybrid had nothing real to offer for storytelling about himself. His stories were always derived from creatures he'd seen or heard about--majestic, sometimes heroic tales he'd learned on his loner escapades throughout the lands that made excellent bedtime stories for youngsters (an opportunity rarely delivered to a one-eyed, emaciated bag of skin and bones). His eye peeked up at her from his pathetically reserved position on the ground, before a snort arose from his nose. "A loner," he mumbled rather grumpily. "Always been one. Still am one, I think. Been everywhere on this leg and back and it still hurts like hell. Stay in your pack, if you know what's good for you." He smirked towards the end, but tried to cast it away quickly.

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