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Rancor’s whole body was shivering and trembling as the desert man failed to say or do anything at all helpful. It wasn’t like his mind was being helped by the smoke, anyway. Nauseous, heart thrumming nonstop in his chest, tail twitching like it wanted to wag. He blinked hard, and then threw his head back onto the ground. I don’t recall, A narrowed eye glared his way. He did not want to. And I only remembered who you were because of your collar. If you’d have taken that off as well, maybe we wouldn’t be here. The blame on himself pushed aside, the dual-colored wolf started to shakily stand again.

Not that he stayed up for very long. Obviously, The whale-hunter gagged through his teeth, throwing a shifty glance back at tassels of flame behind him. We need to get away from this fire. Maybe not now, but before nightfall. Can you travel in the snow? You’ve got long fur. Of course, he did not expect much from a sand-slinger. Mojave was never quite cut out for the wild, either..

Speaking of, his second question went unanswered as he stared up at that red collar. He was… practically useless. He could scout, but anything Mojave could do now was something Rancor had learned years ago. He was.. Fairly certain he was older than he was in the first place. Which meant, according to his own pack’s beliefs, that brown-furred fellow was basically a woman. Right? He looked to the side, then, reasoning that any female in his pack was never expected to do anything, ever. It was all the responsibility of a male. Now assuming their stay on Ferinine would go the same way, all grasp on his sensibilities seemed to vanish.

After all. If it still fit within the traditional family values he'd learned, Mojave was just an.. Infertile lady! You are a woman. To me. The words stumbled out more sloppily than he intended, but he could not stop himself. I think of... Treating you like a woman.