The red blonde colored jackal presses those cupped ear forwards towards the horse, golden eyes looking up at him. Strange, after all this time he would suddenly be conversing with an equine, the red gold jackal can look back on his experiences with equine. Marcelo was more accustomed to riding on top of a steed and racing through the fields of his village. He was used to horse drawn carriages, and horses plowing fields. So to be standing here, conversing with one (though it was a man in were form) and looking upon him with golden amber eyes, it was a strange feeling. But still, he stands (as tall as he can) looking to Frost. He is not a proud character, just vain with an awkwardly placed feral, yet some how rugged, smile upon his internally young face.

Maybe the red blonde jackal isn't brave, maybe, maybe he is just stupid. But he isn't thinking this as the horse lowers his head closer to his own level. While his nostrils flare, Marcelo's own black nose twitches in response, gathering the scent of the man. A snort, in response, and Marcelo sneezes in surprise, shaking his head slightly. "Awww, and here I thought I was being original," he says, and no doubt he would have pouted had he been in his human form. As the horse then begins walking, a downright wolffish smile is able to hit that jackal face as he decides to dart underneath the horse and around to the front of him and then scuttling around to the side of him.

Like I said, maybe he isn't brave, maybe he is very, very stupid.

"Oh right behind you," he says, and there is a tone to his voice as if you cannot tell whether he is being sarcastic or not. Marcelo stands off to the side as the horse drinks and for once the jackal is afforded a view of the equine creature they call Frost. It was strange, being here, discussing packs, it had been so very long since he had joined anyone, his immortality certainly keeping him ostracized from most, especially back in the olden days when magic seemed to be more feared than it is now. Or, maybe, everyone was just getting better at hiding all their supernatural secrets. Frost, for his part, is nearly right on the money and Marcelo is, frankly, impressed. Brawn and brain. You are liable to make Marcelo switch teams Mr. Frost. The jackal sits back on his haunches and scratches behind his ear in a dog like fashion before shaking, the behavior so casual for someone who he has only just met. Perhaps he should be more on guard, but what was Frost going to do? Kill him? Never say never Marcelo.

The horse speaks again and Marcelo considers his Frost's words carefully. Marcelo then stands on all four feet before leaning backwards, keeping those front paws out, as if he were an old man (which, he is) stretching out his neck muscles. "It has been a long time since I was part of a pack, Frost," he says. "A were needs a pack," he says and it is true. As much of a lone wold as Marcelo was, he cannot deny the call to join others like himself. "I want to see what Sacrosanct has to offer, since I don't plan on leaving any time soon," and he flashes those pearly white teeth in a sort of wolfish grin once more. "It also has been sometime since I have gotten to use my skills." Just what those skills are would be seen in time, but Marcelo wasn't one to put out on the first date. Wait. Put out on the first date: yes. Reveal his secrets to an alpha at the first meeting: no. There we go, got that sorted out now.

"I have run about the forests here in the South," Marcelo says, and it as true, his animal side enjoyed hunting through the trees. Tiny cupped ears twitch atop his head as the jackal stares up at Frost with golden amber eyes. "The information you have given has been useful," Marcelo acknowledges, but he has more to say it seems. (When does he not?) "But what I want to know, Frost, is what exactly you would look for in a pack member?" Teeth bare into a cheeky grin. "And what it would take to possibly join?"

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