Wolf was in love [so, what else was new]. But this time, it was different.

That morning, while catching up on the ongoing palimony trial of Tinkerbell versus Pan and Darling in the latest issue of Little Lambs Gone Astray, he’d fallen asleep. Sometime later, the noise produced by the tramping of dozens of feet passing nearby had awakened him.

It had been a small band made up of an old man in a pointy-hat, two hygienically-challenged men, a dwarf and four hairy-footed [!] children. But Wolf had paid scant heed to them for his attention had been riveted upon the most glorious individual he’d ever laid amorous eyes upon. Elegant, tall and willowy, with flawless porcelain skin, a fall of white-gold hair and a face that defied description [Wolf had tried using every rhapsodic phrase, eloquent word that he could think of, but had deemed none of them worthy] the vision had stepped with feline grace midst the lumbering ensemble.

With heart securely ensnared, Wolf had been impelled to tag along, keeping to the trees with lupine stealth. He’d been trailing them for several hours and despite his care the object of his affection seemed to feel the tug of his passion for every so often the stunning head would swivel and the matchless blue eyes would scan. In those instances Wolf’s breath would catch and his heart would skip a beat.

When evening fell, the group halted, made camp and settled down to sleep. Wolf, cozily ensconced among the rocks knew it was Destiny when his inamorata appeared unable to join the others in rest, but leaned serenely upon a boulder, face and limbs breathtaking highlighted by the flickering campfire.

The unrealistic hope that his dreamy, luminous Precious was thinking of him caused Wolf to heave a sigh. His was, as yet, an unrequited love. His dearest was completely unaware of his existence much less his adoration. Wolf did not even have a name with which to adorn his scrumpdillyishious darling. But then, what’s in a name? A lamb shank, a rump roast, a veal chop by any other moniker would taste just as delish’.

How best then, to make his presence known so that introductions [and panting declarations] could be made? He couldn’t very well just walk up. He was after all, a half-wolf, and the long trek had given him ample time to take note of the weaponry with which his dumpling’s companions were outfitted [even his beloved was sporting a bow and a quiver brimming with arrows].

Long hours he pondered, then just before dawn the solution hit him. Who could possibly be mistrustful of [or resist] a suitor bearing flowers?!