What delay? 
It was hard to imagine such a large creature acting bashful, but that was surely the best word for how Dahlia's head hunter was acting at the moment.
He had only recently learned how to shift for the first time - five years old, and only now - and to be frank, he was not enjoying it so far. It felt like he was going to topple onto his face with every lurching step he took, and it all seemed so... unnatural. It had been drilled into him as a child - walking on two legs was taboo. No wolf needs hands. Keep things the way nature intended. And while he had run away from home, and shed most of his superstitions and pointless traditions, this was a hard habit to break.
The lumbering werewolf moved cautiously behind the faded buildings of the town, his wide footpaws sinking into the muddy ground. Having been a veritable recluse for the past month had shielded him from the worst of the rainy season, and when he raised his broad muzzle to blink at the grey sky, he almost welcomed the thought of getting wet. Rain might tame his wild mane, the bushy white and black hair that hung lank from his brow down his spine. Even being inexperienced with the ways of the luperci did not shield him from the notion that he looked rather different from the other shifters. Even disregarding his distinctive ebony markings and faded blue eyes, his new Optime form was huge and fierce and more feral than any other he had regarded. He did not have the slender lean build of Mew or Kansas; nor did he have the clean chiseled girth of Henratha or Elliot. He was still so wolfish and... strange. At least his narcolepsy had not plagued him in some time. This upright way of walking must be more energy efficient.
The tall building before him looked just like any other to the uneducated male, but the scrabbling sound and the humming from above was not. Looking sheepish, positively embarrassed, the throwback werewolf crept closer, clumsily crushing a noisy bush beneath his heavy feet. White-tipped ears fell back against his broad skull, lost in the mess of mane as he waited hesitantly for whomever worked above to glance down. So far he had only spoken to the two ladies closest in his life, his mate Cercelee and his friend Cwmfen. He had yet to reveal his uncomfortable new height to anyone else in the pack. Would he be mocked or shouted at? He still felt so wrong inside, standing on his hind legs like the humans were said to. Ebony-daubed tail lashed nervous circles behind him as he peered upwards, trying to recognize the dull colours of the wolf atop the roof.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
