Logan was enjoying his new home with the rag tag pack of wolves led by Mr. Smith. The man had given him permission to use his first name but Logan had fallen in love with the sound of the other and had no inclination to change it thank you very much. He liked what he liked and it didn't matter what anyone thought, even the owner of said thing. The pack wasn't human in the least, something Logan was quite happy of, except in special situations like dealing with the towns folk to buy certain materials. Aside from the alpha himself Logan figured he had the best social graces of them all- and that was saying something.
However, even if you were completely in love with a place, after a month you do tend to have a few bored spots here and there. Logan was experiencing one of those now as he aimlessly wandered through the woods, not caring which pack owned what land his bare feet fell on, content to enjoy his Mother's silence and beauty and solitude. Logan wore only a pair of severely ripped and dirt/blood stained jeans which rode low on his hips, and he only wore them instead of going completely naked because it was annoying walking through brambles with your pecker hanging out. Tattoos (humanities only worthwhile contribution) covered almost every inch of Logan's body and his head was freshly shaved with his own long, curved dagger which was dangling from his back pocket, slicing through a bit of the pocket to keep it from falling out.
He was going over a list of ingredients he'd need to get from the Apothecary tomorrow before the full moon when the wind changed directions and he caught the scent of something lovely. Licking his lips, Logan's eyes sharpened and he changed direction, heading towards the scent of melting candy and young female. "Just call me angel of the morning, baby, just touch my cheek before you leave me, darlin," Logan sang in his deep southern twang, hopping over an old log and coming face to face with the pretty little thing.