Lural
If there was one thing to be said about him, it was that he had no exact pattern. Where once he might emerge at dawn, another he may not appear until night; where day warmed his skin the previous day, on this one it was the cool of dusk that enveloped him. It had been a long slumber curled up with the limp form of his bat slung over him that had driven him out; the pet taking flight to catch food.The zikwa had moved through the dwindling light with no intentions at first. Until a delightful scent had invaded his nose. A deep inhale pulled it further and he found himself giddy at the prospect of it. There was no one smell; it was many intertwined. And he knew it must belong to something living, which only delighted him more. There was little more to adore than meeting someone new. With a laugh of delight, he set off in search of whoever it belonged to.
