... Carried through the wind, into your window. Smells slightly musky, and fishy cause of his lunch, but also smells of confidence and power. Like if you were to fight him in the arena, he would pin you down with his bulky muscles, covered by that lush silkly smooth black fur, and you'd struggle but he'd just twist himself around you to keep you detained. His breath in your face, his heart beating against your ear against his chest, cause he's workin'. Are you workin'? Or are you just letting this happen?