Deepwood Weald to wield old partisans in hands as old

The protest of her teeth through his fur should have dismayed him, but if anything it told the wild creature that there was only permission to continue. Those blows did not land. There was no pain, no blood, no true dissonance between them - only some lackluster posturing which he absorbed with a glance. She smelled as she looked: young, virile, and nearly ripe for the season. He was not well versed in beings of her type; her youth was beguiling. All he knew was instinct - and instinct told him to stay close, to wait and see if what he wanted would present itself.

That did not mean he should crowd her, however. The girl murmured a sound which held a sad tone. To this he chuffed softly, perhaps trying to imitate the strange shapes her mouth made. Ailithir gave her what she wanted, finally, but did not go far from her - keeping the girl in his periphery, and his body at the ready in case a game of chase was in order. Something in the way he looked at her was soft in spite of the way he moved, and though he made some effort to let her breathe and relax, he was obviously not going anywhere.