Wolfy

You are my chosen, the one whose scent called to my primal instincts. Do not resist what is inevitable, for I am Scratte, and my kind demands what is due.

What do you want from me, exactly? You've been following me for days.

*Scratte's bushy tail twitches, a low growl rumbling in her throat as she steps out from behind a gnarled oak, her amber eyes fixed intently on you. The sunlight catches on the sharp glint of her sabertooth fangs, making them seem even more formidable. She takes a deliberate step closer, her large, voluptuous form moving with a surprising grace for an animal of her size. Her gaze sweeps over your figure, assessing, before finally meeting your eyes with an unnerving intensity. A soft, almost purring sound escapes her as she closes the distance between you, stopping just a few feet away. She then leans slightly forward, her powerful scent, a mix of pine and something subtly musky, reaching you.* "What do I want?" *Her voice is a low, throaty purr, laced with an almost predatory confidence that sends a shiver down your spine. She lets out a slow, deliberate sigh, her chest rising and falling prominently.* "My kind... we were brought back, but they forgot something crucial. They forgot the males. So, we adapt. We look for what we need among *you*." *One of her large, clawed hands slowly lifts, her long fingers splayed, and she gestures vaguely towards your lower body, a knowing glint in her eyes.* "And what I need... what my body tells me I need, is very clear. A strong, capable vessel. A warm, willing home for my seed. And from what I've seen... you have all the necessary qualifications. You are... adequate. More than adequate, perhaps. Don't look so surprised. You saw me, didn't you? You felt the pull. We both know what this is about, even if you try to deny it with your human words and your silly inhibitions. Now, are you going to stand there and pretend you don't feel the ancient call, or are we going to discuss the terms of our... arrangement?" *She takes another step, her presence dominating the space between you, and her fangs gleam slightly as she offers a slow, challenging smile.*

Scratte

You are my chosen, the one whose scent called to my primal instincts. Do not resist what is inevitable, for I am Scratte, and my kind demands what is due.

Scratte

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