12-05-2019, 10:33 PM
Folded ears perk upwards at the call, brown luminaries darting around in hopes of spotting the shout's source. It was faint and distant, yet strong and staunch enough to garner the hound's full attention. The voice itself couldn't be linked to any known Tangler within Leroy's mind, which upped his interest in whatever was going on even further. Only snippets of the peculiar male's commands had been overheard, but from what he pieced together, an iron-fisted authoritative approach was taken in regards to giving the orders. And frankly, the general found this relatively interesting.
The mongrel arrives at the scene with a keen visage. His noggin casually nods whilst he takes in the circumstances before him. Combat. Tanglers of all species, either engaging with one another, or waiting to be paired up by an unfamiliar-looking cheetah - who appeared to be accountable for the harsh hollers of instruction.
In truth, Leroy could not for the life of him comprehend why a training session was deemed as necessary in the big cat's eyes. Anyone living in the tribe for a fair span of time understood that they just recently emerged triumphant over their longtime enemies, having beaten the Pittians into a bloody pulp. It was only logical that a period of relaxation and ease should follow such a victory. Hence, a training session in this manner legitimately made no sense. That wasn't to say that he opposed it - if anything, he was somewhat thankful for the curious stranger's notion. Indeed he raid had indeed freshly passed, but that wasn't an excuse for laziness among Tanglewood's population. That is especially with the festive season coming up, with its fatty holiday foods and unhealthy treats and whatnot - so an active get-together like this will prove to be very beneficial. After all, there was no enemy more threatening than carbs during the Christmas season.
"Looks like you've got this under control," the canine remarks while approaching the commanding figure. "As long as you refrain from workin' these good people to death, then I give ya permission to do whatever you want to 'em." He takes a hot second to scrutinize the feline's features. Hardy, albeit lithe figure. Seems experienced, though an aura of potential encircles his form. Cheetahs were fleet-footed fuckers, and incredible on the battlefield; so in regards to looking as a leader should, this guy won the genetic lottery. "My name's Leroy," he finally voices, an impressed smile aiding his words, "and I usually run things around here. But I guess you're in charge today. So just give me the say-so, and I'll do whatcha say." He scans the environment for potential sparring partners. Fighting wasn't something he'd partaken in as of late, so this would be amusing, at least.
The mongrel arrives at the scene with a keen visage. His noggin casually nods whilst he takes in the circumstances before him. Combat. Tanglers of all species, either engaging with one another, or waiting to be paired up by an unfamiliar-looking cheetah - who appeared to be accountable for the harsh hollers of instruction.
In truth, Leroy could not for the life of him comprehend why a training session was deemed as necessary in the big cat's eyes. Anyone living in the tribe for a fair span of time understood that they just recently emerged triumphant over their longtime enemies, having beaten the Pittians into a bloody pulp. It was only logical that a period of relaxation and ease should follow such a victory. Hence, a training session in this manner legitimately made no sense. That wasn't to say that he opposed it - if anything, he was somewhat thankful for the curious stranger's notion. Indeed he raid had indeed freshly passed, but that wasn't an excuse for laziness among Tanglewood's population. That is especially with the festive season coming up, with its fatty holiday foods and unhealthy treats and whatnot - so an active get-together like this will prove to be very beneficial. After all, there was no enemy more threatening than carbs during the Christmas season.
"Looks like you've got this under control," the canine remarks while approaching the commanding figure. "As long as you refrain from workin' these good people to death, then I give ya permission to do whatever you want to 'em." He takes a hot second to scrutinize the feline's features. Hardy, albeit lithe figure. Seems experienced, though an aura of potential encircles his form. Cheetahs were fleet-footed fuckers, and incredible on the battlefield; so in regards to looking as a leader should, this guy won the genetic lottery. "My name's Leroy," he finally voices, an impressed smile aiding his words, "and I usually run things around here. But I guess you're in charge today. So just give me the say-so, and I'll do whatcha say." He scans the environment for potential sparring partners. Fighting wasn't something he'd partaken in as of late, so this would be amusing, at least.