He looks like a lion you could mistake for the whole world's skybox in the distance. Big fluffy cloud of a lion-giant, but you'll hear thunder long before he's close enough to see clearly. <3

-2Paw.

And if you're in a snowstorm you'll never see him because he can be QUIET.

Until possibly the second-last step he takes before he's all around you, or on top of you; specifically the sound of that penultimate or final footstep, then the other one catching up to its mate in treading, and behold, the biggest lion on two feet you've ever seen or imagined- is he possibly a dream borne to flesh of yours, after a fashion?- stands before you, bracketing your insectile, insignificant self with feet wider than half a large city, these feet of titan kitty, leers down at his new friend and size-relative ant lustfully and in interest. No escaping your fate by then, nor his feet. Cats are sneaky, you see, not that I know your veterancy of experience doesn't well include that, but it bears sustained position, don't you agree?

...did it just start snowing in summertime, or is that even snow? The wolf looks towards the mighty storm suddenly brewn before him, and he thinks he hears both booming thunder near the ground, and the friendly, playful rumbling grunt of amusement at a living storm knowing he's been noted in approach. "I'm the Snugglenaut, boy." Unstoppable, non-negotiable. You can't hurt such a creature or even slow him down if you tried, his Vastness is so far beyond the remit or mortal technology or any living thing of lesser might. Except for one way, perhaps: you can be unkind to him, or refuse his company unkindly. You can say no to his heart politely, even if there's no fashion to refuse his flesh or his tread.

Don't make the Vast Lion cry. And worse, don't make him upset in the first place. That's not kind, nor wise. He knows what the word THOOM means, and what it does; and he can choose its emphasis or where it lands.

-2PAw.

Oh ho ho. I can't wait to introduce you readers to him.

I promise, vowed to myself, to you and Vast into the bargain: Vast won't ever weep because of me or on my behalf, aside from tears of joy, if he chooses that expression. And if he does, this ant of a wolf will lend him his linen handkerchief to tidy his eyes, then sing his immeasurable, unlimited stormfoot-lion down to some very enthusiastic footrubs. I'm very sure he likes those.

Don't you, you big vanilla-cream furred yummy? Oh, I know that look. You may be due match to a deity in the shape of a lion, but you're not a good liar when it comes to the look on your face. And that's part of your strength, for you are honest. Lions shouldn't be liars, for that's just damned peculiar.

...And that includes my fellow lion-beast werecousin and the arouser of my heart and loins every time he comes close enough for me to smell his flesh, or I see his foot rise, lift to brief barefoot sole and then set down again. You may have your secrets, Israel Kevinson the Welder-Lion, but you are not a liar, to others or yourself. You understand caution, and it's why you don't fear my interest, for this smaller, leaner wolf is not a threat. You might find me handsome, and interest amusing. But I tickle your fancy, I'm sure of it.

I know what makes a lion grunt like wet, lathered thunder, over and over again, smiling ripsaw teeth raptly, swollen body-constellation of rippling, hulking muscles heaving and dripping sweat and lips saliva, thick, muscular tongue lapping your lips and struggling to keep up with the rhythm of your lion's flexing and bulging meat and muscle, and you are so easy to please and interpreting your desires straightforward. Your hungers are of a man and lion, healthy and fertile, reasonable. Wholly and aptly normal, and I know how terribly you've clung to what of normality you've been able to claim. I understand that need, and have long since fostered it of my own, Israel. You are not alone, and I will have you know that.

Yes, you're going to get a good footrub too, Izzy. And more than that, if I'm to be firmly of your sole service.

-2Paw.