Hunting the Field’s drifting grasses and aspen hollows has a different feel now that he’s on the barren Isle. He’s been so busy looking for food, scouting for food, fighting for food, planning around food, ̶ he’s had no time at all to tend to his diminished collection of women he’s always been fond of keeping. He’s always had a concubine or two, sometimes four or five, he’s always loved the feel of a girl against him, under him, beside him; he craves it again.
There’s been a small lull, winter has been exceptionally easy for the band of stallion’s in the north. Well, easy compared to what it could be without the assistance of some more lush territories...and a little force. This small break allows Chemdog to slink away for a week or so and go south to do some more scouting for the Isle and himself.
His bulky form is starting to fill back out, the gray hairs that pepper his hide starting to fade away. His health is returning, and his immortal blood lets his body recover from the aging it naturally wants to do. Each time his health depletes, his age shows, his bones poke from under his black hide, his eyes fade and his coat starts to gray in certain spots. Being in the north with no food had him looking shabby for the summer and fall, but winter has brought him back, the revival of the Isle has been hard on him but with some of the band’s recent discoveries in the west, he’s looking much better. Almost back to his normal self.
He watches her from the shelter of some closely huddled balsam trees. They hide his hulking black form fairly well, the snow on the long arms of the pines matching the bone-white splash across his broad face; he is camouflaged while he spies. It may be that he’s quite found out already, he would not mind much, it would not change his approach at all.
“I know of some much better grazing….” he grins, standing closely behind her suddenly. She may have spotted him walking around the hills and coming up behind her, again, he wouldn’t mind that much, he would still sneak up from behind her and stand too close, close enough to reach his nose out and touch her (which he does not do, for now). He looks down at her with bright teal eyes, trouble most assuredly brewing behind them, a crooked grin on his black lips.“I’m Chemdog.” his smile straightens, but there is still something bad about it.
chemdog
astra inclinant, sed non obligant.
chem would love to whisk her away to icicle isle! =D
@[Zylah] ❤️
