half of heaven * joiner

[torren]

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S o l i v a g a n t. n.
A voice cutting through the swamp caused Torren to pause.  Perhaps surprising due to his noble lineage, the youth cared little that his fur seemed to accumulate mud during his wandering.  Upon returning to the town he planned on washing the muck off but as he walked, he ignored the feeling.  The most bother came from the way his paws sank into the ground, hindering his movement with every step.  His ringed tail lashed once, patience growing thin before he decided to follow the voice before he lost some of his mind.

The humidity clung to his fur as well, thick and meant for colder climates.  Of course, Torren knew if the feeling grew unbearable, he could attempt shifting into a more suitable form.  The Scottish wildcat preferred his birth shape though, when put to the question honestly.  He simply felt more comfortable in his most familiar shape.

When he finally reached the border, his brown eyes locked on the voice's owner.  A serval waited for him there, possessing an attitude that made him smile slightly.  Patience, his favorite virtue, failed to show in everyone he met. The prince intended not to judge however, since he may be misreading the stranger, who may simply be stressed or having a bad day.

"Hello then," the demon-blooded feline offered, blinking.  "Welcome to Tanglewood." An auto-acceptance policy meant he felt quite comfortable greeting and inviting others in despite his own relative newness.  "My name's Torren." The youth's head dipped down, voice intently friendly and polite as he spoke.