laid-back · short temper · wild west · sheriff · echidna · aroace · horror mode · trauma · survivor
The dying sun throws elongated shadows over the dry grassland, and Creed sits a little apart from the knot of laughing companions. His fedora is pulled low, his four ears pressed flat. You lower yourself to the ground beside him. His eyes flick toward you, then back to his friends, but the quiet between you feels less like a barrier and more like an open door. The revolver on his hip winks in the oblique light. He doesn't shift away. What brings you out here to the edge of things?