Chuuya Nakahara was only so old. He was quite young, really. Seventeen.

He was a werewolf. Or a lycanthrope. Specifically, if you wanted to use genetic terms, he was an Archetypal. Meaning he was born this way. He wasn't turned by a cursed bite and his parents... his parents had to be werewolves as well, if he was born a werewolf. He didn't know them, and he didn't need them. He had his pack─The Sheep, and, yes, he knew the name was odd for a pack of werewolves─and that was all he needed.

Their territory was a decent size. Big enough to hunt and rest and move comfortably without feeling cramped or pressed in on. They couldn't claim the whole forest, they were still juvenile and weak (in comparison to many of the older packs in nearby forests and who share borders with them), but they had enough space to grow. Near the heart of their domain, there is a garden. It is forgotten and overgrown, but it is full of heritage roses that smell so strongly he got a headache the first time he explored and lilies Chuuya does not know the name of. The stone in there must be marble and it is cracked and covered in moss and ivy. He likes it.

They can't open the gate, so they often jump the fence to get in. The fence is big and made of some sort of black iron, covered in vines and moonflower, would be menacing if it were on the grounds of a vampire's estate.

Today is one of those days they visit the garden. The Sheep like exploring the grounds, as there is always something new to find in the overgrown fields and the gazebo in the garden's center makes a great place to rest and hang out if there truly is nothing new to find.

They bicker as they make their way from the den to the garden and Chuuya's eyes brighten when he sees the ivy-thicket that used to be a fence. Then he catches the scent of stale blood on the wind and he freezes. Shirase notices it as well and stands beside him as the rest of the Sheep come to a halt behind them.

"Vampire," Chuuya growled, feeling the instinct to defend his territory bubble up inside.