The fox couldn't possibly have known just how right he was about his fear... Ferus is not a hunter by scent, typically, though his sense of smell is good enough to be, he is simply too lazy and too far from the ground to bother. But the smell of fear, the sounds of labored breathing and a thudding heartbeat, these are the greatest input for him, a combination of a strong stimulant and an aphrodisiac that sends him into an even more decidedly predatory state than he normally lives in.<br/><br/>From Grant's perspective, the pile of rags just sort of... roils, rising up even higher than it already does, and sloughing off and back to reveal the skunk beneath. The rag-mantle is a mesh frame through which all the rags are laced, like a sniper's ghillie suit, allowing him to shed the whole thing when he feels the need. Beneath it he is clad in just a pair of shorts, which snug tightly against a rather heavy bulge, even for his size.<br/><br/>With his rags gone he's no less of a monster, however, his empty black eyes greedily drinking in his surroundings, no emotions visible in the deep darkness from which the skunk views the world. His claws are wicked and curved like talons, and he bares sabre-fangs, which hang to a few inches below his chin. "Heh heh.... hrrrrmh... I just love that smell... y'gonna piss yourself? I find that it goes well with fear-sweat, like a marinade made of terror. You might as well come out and face what's coming, meat, maybe if you're fun to play with I wont leave you as a pile of shit next to a garbage can."